


Savoring Sips of Something Sweet

by Acting4Hope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (but it's just fitzroy talking about hookup culture for like two lines), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Western, Board Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Changeling Fitzroy, Character Study, Drinking, Emetophobia, Group Bonding, Haircuts, Introspection, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Hurt/Comfort, On the Run, Running Away, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Things will get better I swear, Unresolved Emotional Tension, and also a chaos bit, light gore, like a couple sentences of it, on the run/cowboy!au, suggestive content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 135,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acting4Hope/pseuds/Acting4Hope
Summary: Sat by the fireTo witness gentle, but radicalTransformation, ceased to be mindlessCreate our own sweetnessAt last growing the heartThe Thundermen are headed West.Yeehaw, baby.
Relationships: Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Master Firbolg & Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Master Firbolg & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Comments: 111
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (bangs my head against the keyboard) hi i've been working on this for 12 hours and i don't know why 
> 
> the taz grad server is always off they shits, but we're Especially off the shits when it comes to aus (this one formulated by me and my girlfriend @maplekeene and added to by matt @accesscodex on tumblr.ass). i decided i wanted to yeehaw the boys, and then wrote FOURTEEN PAGES OF SETUP WHY DID I DO THIS WHY WHY WHY AM I OKAY NO IM NOT 
> 
> though the song isn't titled using a song, the summary and general fuel for the fire is brought to you by [PartyIsntOver/Campfire/Bimmer by Tyler, the Creator](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivI0J1Z1uK4) which is actually where i got the name of Jasper from. the other character mentioned (dustin, lyra, and jenny) are all from an old motw campaign i played with the gayng!!! i didn't really use dustin a whole lot bc he wasn't my chara, but our campaign took place in a western setting so Literally i had brainworm 
> 
> UM so anyway there will be a second part to this. hopefully. i would like there to be one, and if You'd like there to be one too then please comment!!! lemme kno what you thought!!! please god interact w the work this took 12 hours gbrjhgrbhjgrbjhr also this is entirely unedited try not to clown me too hard okay
> 
> enjoy!!

After clearing a fair amount of distance between themselves and the demons, the Thundermen realize their previous plan of returning to the school is no longer feasible. 

They’re gathered around a small fire, recuperating after riding the pegasi for nearly an hour who now lie asleep on the other side of the small clearing they’ve made camp in. Each Thunderman looks a varying degree of exhausted--Fitzroy the worst off by far, with Argo coming in at a close second. The Firbolg looks neutral, but the subtle dip of his head every few seconds is a clear enough tell for the other two that he’s also pretty wiped. Nobody’s said a word in quite some time, each lost in their own thoughts and physical ailments. Argo feels the subtle weakness left in the wake of Fitzroy’s necrotic burst and inwardly wonders how this will affect him in the coming days. The Firbolg tries, in vain, to pick the demon skin off of his hands--vivid memories of staring death in the face flashing through his mind. And Fitzroy is just...staring into the fire. Almost boring a hole in the flame itself with his steady gaze. The silence is not unwelcome, but it carries a particular heaviness no one can seem to shake off. That is, until Fitzroy says: 

“We can’t go back.” 

The other two stir at his voice, the neutral tone foreign to them. Fitzroy sounds sure--uncharacteristically sure, with none of his usual energy or bravado. He sounds as sure as one feels on the brink of death; like this is it, this is all they have and so they might as well admit it. Argo looks to Fitzroy with a concerned frown. 

“What makes ya say that?” Argo asks, hoping he could maybe insert some reason into such a concrete statement. Even if he knows, in the very back of his mind, that Fitzroy is right. That whatever life they had at the school prior will never be theirs again. Fitzroy continues to stare into the fire as if Argo never spoke, his body hunched and his arms crossed atop his legs. 

“We’re being hunted,” Fitzroy explains. “Hieronymous--or, the _fake_ Hieronymous, rather--isn’t going to stop here. He’ll keep sending more demons to find us, and those demons will keep terrorizing our friends and ruining our city. He won’t stop until I-- _we_ are captured, and then who’s to say what will happen after that? If we aren’t brutally tortured for our insubordination, we’ll surely be killed. And all of our work will be...for naught.” Though his body stays still, Argo can see the subtle clench of his fists as he speaks. The imagery he lays out sends a chill down the other men’s spines; thoughts of how badly this could escalate rushing through their heads. “We can never return to Last Hope.” 

“W-Well, I mean, surely we could return eventually, yes?” Argo reasons, nervously running a hand through his hair. “If not to continue our schooling, then to--to _fix_ what’s goin’ on at the school. We have the apple! How else is Higglemas supposed to fix his brother? We--The school _needs us_!” 

“The school needs _bodies_ , it doesn’t matter what bodies those are.” Fitzroy’s response is cold, clamming Argo up immediately. “I don’t trust Higglemas any more than I trust his demon brother. For all we know, we could be playing into the hands of the wrong imposter. I’m not risking my ass for some dumb fucking dog.” His sudden movement startles the other two as he reaches for Argo’s knapsack, quickly rooting through it until he finds what he needs. Before Argo can utter a word of protest, Fitzroy fishes the apple out of the bag along with a notebook and pen. He flips to an empty page and begins writing. 

“We...cannot return?” The Firbolg finally speaks up, sounding the most unsure of his own words in a while. 

“No, we cannot,” Fitzroy mutters, his note complete. He tears the page out and folds it into a small square, jabbing the top of the square through the stem of the apple. Then he takes out his falconer’s glove and whistles, long and low. The three wait for a baited breath before the flap of wings is heard above them. Leon, in falcon form, lands on the glove and looks to Fitzroy. With his other hand, he presents the apple-note combo to Leon. 

“Take this to Higglemas, and make sure you are not seen.” Fitzroy instructs. Leon looks at the apple and makes a head movement similar to a nod. He hops down Fitzroy’s arm until he can grasp the apple with one claw. Then, he looks back up to Fitzroy, head cocked to one side. Fitzroy sighs and pets Leon’s head with one finger in one swift motion. “I am...sorry that this is all we can do for you, my friend. But we need to disappear. When you return to your human form, you...you must tell everyone we are _dead_ , do you understand?” 

The question shocks the entire party, Argo staring open-mouthed as the Firbolg’s eyes widen underneath his mess of hair. Leon stares at Fitzroy for a long moment, taking in the grave expression on the half-elf before nodding and taking off. The three watch him fly off into the night’s sky, following his form until he is consumed by inky blackness. Silence follows for a tense moment until Fitzroy stands, brushing dust off his tattered pants. 

“W-What are you doing?” Argo chances a question, nervous and unsure and maybe a little panicked following the finality of Fitzroy’s death declaration. Fitzroy starts rooting through his own bag, pulling things out and strewing them about the clearing. 

“What does it look like I’m doing? We need to _disappear_ , Argo,” Fitzroy retorts, his tone clipped. “I’m faking my death.” After tossing some of his items about the area, he then turns to his own clothes, ripping off sizable bits of his shirt and cloak and leaning over the fire to singe them. 

“But...we are not dead. We are right here.” The Firbolg states, not yet grasping the situation. 

“Not for long,” Fitzroy mutters, tearing off part of his pant leg. “We need to leave the demons with enough evidence that we’ve been taken care of; that some creature from the wilderness came in and attacked us in our sleep. I suggest the two of you start following in my footsteps because we only have a few more hours of night left before they find us again.” 

“A-Again?” Argo asks, still trying to force some reason into the already spiraling situation. “How do you know they--” 

“--Do you honestly believe an hour’s worth of flight is going to give us that much of a head start?” Fitzroy cuts him off, now stopped in his movement to look at Argo plainly. Argo ignores the stir in his stomach at seeing the scattered bits of bare chest. “They’re still tracking us, Argo. While we ‘rest’, those demons have already found our scent and are tracking us to this very location. We need to give them a reason to stop tracking--to permeate this spot with enough of our scent so they can assume the deed has been done. This other stuff is just proof of a struggle.” 

“But, what about...the pegasi? They...will know.” Firbolg mentions, looking over to the trio sleeping not far off. “They will...look for us. They will know we were not killed, yes?” This seems to pause Fitzroy for a moment, who follows the Firbolg’s gaze to the pegasi as he taps a finger to his chin. Inspiration strikes him and he turns back to the Firbolg. 

“You have to tell them to leave,” he states. The Firbolg turns his head in confusion, causing Fitzroy to huff. “The pega--your _friend_ , tell your friend they need to take their little group and get out of here. You don’t--You don’t need to lie to them; tell them we need to fake our death so the demons leave us alone, and that if they stick around ‘till morning there’s gonna be a shitstorm waiting for them to deal with.” 

“B-But, why must we be gone? There must...be another way to--” 

“--I don’t know why this concept seems to not be getting through to the two of you, but this is _over_.” Fitzroy’s voice intensifies, a spark shooting out of his fingertip as he leans in to the other Thundermen. From this angle, Argo can see the telltale signs of a rage about to burst--the locked jaw, the veins popping on his neck, the white-knuckled clench of his fist, the static field lifting his hair--and stiffens. He scoots closer to the Firbolg, subtly pushing the two of them away, in case their friend’s patience finally snaps. 

“We’re _dead_ , okay? It’s _over_ ,” Fitzroy continues, gesturing to the three of them with one hand. “Fitzroy, Argo, and Master Firbolg are _dead_ as of tonight and we’re _never coming back_ . We got mauled by some bear--o-or monster, or I don’t give a _fuck_ . And now we’re _dead_ , and the whole world could mourn us for all I fucking care because so long as we’re _gone_ the demons can’t keep hurting innocent bystanders--which, might I add, includes the _school_ , the _town_ , and the _whole world_ . As long as our bodies are presumed cold and lifeless, we can ensure that no one else meets our same fabricated fate. So you two can either _help me_ , or _leave_ . Because I’m _done_ risking my ass for old dipshits who have been lying since _day fucking one._ ” His anger is palpable in the air around them, making the hairs on the trio’s arms stand on-end and filling the two with a pit of fear. Fitzroy seems to suddenly realize this and takes a deep breath, steadying his emotions until they no longer tap into his magic. He sags, collapsing back onto the dirt and leaning his head in between his legs to clutch at his hair. 

“I...I’m sorry, that was--that was...it wasn’t my intention to scare you two.” He mutters, his voice small but genuinely his. “I just...I’m so _sick_ and _tired_ of being stuck in the middle of bureaucracy and business and--fucking _war_ that I never asked to be a part of and I...I’m sorry…” Silence hangs in the air following Fitzroy’s words, and it seems like the moment is done. 

That is, until Argo stands and begins tearing off parts of his sleeves. 

Fitzroy looks up at him, confused, and then his gaze turns to the Firbolg when he begins tearing at his clothes, too. “Wh-Wha--” 

“--Well, you said it yerself! We died! Might as well make it look the part, eh?” Argo explains with his typical vigor and liveliness. The Firbolg nods at this and stands, slowly walking to the pegasi to commune with Breeze Through the Willows. Fitzroy watches for a moment, stupefied, before allowing a small smile to form on his face. 

They make quick work annihilating the clearing. Tearing chunks in the earth, scattering items all around, and shooting misfired spells into the bark of trees. The final piece to this puzzle comes at the end of a dagger--three slashes made in the Thundermen’s arms so they could soak the area in their blood. The pegasi fly off at the break of dawn, leaving the area a demolished, blighted mess. 

The demons find it in the early morning reeking of death and destruction. After checking every inch of the place, the dim-witted demons presume exactly what Fitzroy had hoped--some animal made its way in, fought, and ultimately devoured the three. They returned the way they came, content with this information, even if their boss would not be the most pleased. 

Some miles off, in the opposite direction of the demons, the Thundermen repair their tattered clothes, clean their wounds, and head West towards a new life. 

\---

The Firbolg is used to walks like this. 

Coming from deep within the woods, where his clan lived and thrived amongst the tall trees and mossy ground, to the prestigious establishment of Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy was a long and tiresome journey. He walked many days, unsure of a direction but confident in each step he took, until the school came into sight. Relieved and weary, he slept for two whole days before groundskeepers found him and took him to Admissions. From there, his application (written on a stained piece of parchment he clutched tightly in his giant paw) was reviewed and accepted. That was the day he met Argo and Fitzroy, coming right from Admissions to the tiny room he spent the first semester in. A day he’ll never forget, no matter what tries to take his memory away next. 

There are many differences between these two walks, though. 

The first being the company. They talk very little that first day, Fitzroy walking in long and fast strides a few feet in front of them for most of the day, clearly running on the adrenaline of his paranoia. Argo keeps pace with the Firbolg and tries his best to lighten the mood, but gives up soon after. They rest late that night in a cave and leave at the first signs of morning. Now, a few days into their journey, they keep pace with each other, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Argo tells winding stories of his youth at sea, with Fitzroy adding clever remarks every now and again that make the Firbolg chuckle. The Firbolg describes the flora and fauna around them, their connection to the greater functions of the earth they walk on, and he is surprised at how rapt his compatriots’ attention are to his stilted words. It fills him with a sense of warmth--of brotherhood. He’s always felt connected to Fitzroy and Argo in this way, but the journey they walk together has only further cemented the Firbolg in this clan. 

His clan: The Thundermen. 

The second difference is, unlike the Firbolg’s first journey, there is no destination in mind. The three have discussed what they may be looking for in terms of a new area; where it might be easier to blend in. But, by this point, the three have decided that the first town they see is where they’ll start. So each step is uncertain, and every mile is new. The forest stretches for many days on-end. It aids in allowing the Thundermen to find food and shelter quickly, but it is burdensome in its endless quantity. Their map was burned in the fire when they destroyed their things, and not a single one of them have been out this way to know where they might end up when the forest breaks. It leaves the Firbolg uneasy--not enjoying the aimlessness of this journey--but he finds comfort in his brethren. The other two seem to find comfort in the Firbolg as well; always appreciative of his knowledge of foraging and traversing. He keeps Fitzroy from eating a poisonous mushroom, and directs their path around a turbulent river so they wouldn’t have to attempt to traverse through it. In the past, the Firbolg has often wondered whether or not he was pulling enough weight in their trio. But now, with this unknown journey, he knows his assets are just as important as the others. 

Just like a clan should be; providing strength where the others are weak, and allowing the strength of others to boost you up when you are weak. 

The Firbolg smiles as they settle down to rest, one night. This time, it’s in a soft bed of moss, the stars twinkling softly above their heads. Fitzroy seems to notice the Firbolg’s mood and asks, “What’s got you in a good mood, friend?” The Firbolg looks to Fitzroy and Argo (who also looks to the Firbolg now) and his grin grows. 

“Nothing. I just...feel like I found clan.” He states simply. The other two furrow their eyebrows at this statement, silently prodding him to continue. “You two...are like clan. We are brothers.” They look surprised at this, but it is not an unkind surprise. It is a happy and welcome surprise, like when you get a gift from a loved one on a special day. Argo laughs, looking back to the sky with a grin. 

“Well, I never had a sibling, so I hope I can do the role justice!” He says. Fitzroy smiles and settles down onto the ground near Argo. 

“I mean--I would say I view _you_ sort of like a brother, Master Firbolg. _This one_ ,” he shoves at Argo playfully, who swats his hand away with a laugh, “is more like a thorn in my side. But, we, uh...well, _I_ appreciate that. This journey has certainly brought us closer as a company, eh? And they said company retreats never do anything for group camaraderie.” 

“Sure, if ya wanna call ‘running from the demon headmaster who wants us dead’ a company retreat, then I’d be inclined to agree!” Argo jokes, making the trio laugh. They banter for a few more minutes before exhaustion settles in. They say their goodnights and drift off to their respective slumbers. 

And for once in his life, the Firbolg does not dream of his old home. He dreams of his clan and the future they’ll find together, and smiles in his sleep. 

\---

Eventually, the scenery around them begins to change. 

The trees thin out in their multitude and have less and less foliage. The ground becomes harder and drier than the previous lush, mossy beds they walked along. The rivers are gone, replaced by endless stretches of dry dirt. The harmony of crickets and frogs makes way for the long notes of cicadas under the scorching sun. 

They emerge from the remains of the woods to a dry, arid desert. 

And, in the distance, they spot the silhouettes of buildings. 

“Would now be an ample time to make a ‘I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore’ reference?” Argo says, staring with the other two at the far-off town. 

“What the fuck is a Kansas?” Fitzroy asks. Argo sighs and shakes his head. 

“Y’know what? Never mind.” 

\---

They spend the rest of that day in the remaining woods, making the decision to traverse the final miles before the sun is at its zenith so as to prevent dehydration and overexertion. They settle in the shade of a large boulder, eating their rations of berries and rabbit meat they cooked two nights prior. The previous vigor they shared is lost, replaced by a tension that’s been stewing under the surface the entire journey. This is their first town; their first chance at a new life. 

Their last night as Fitzroy, Argo, and the Firbolg. 

“Well,” Fitzroy breaks the silence, hours later, as they sit around a small fire. Their setup gives the trio a sense of deja vu from that very first night. Luckily, Fitzroy doesn’t look as frustrated, just nervous. “I suppose we should start...coming up with new identities. Anyone, uh...given it any thought?” The Firbolg prods the fire with a stick in lieu of replying, while Argo shrugs. 

“Are we certain we need to change names?” Argo asks. “I mean, we’re pretty far from the school ‘n everything. I’m certain none’a these folks even _know_ what Wiggenstaff’s is!” 

“We can’t be _sure_ of that, though,” Fitzroy explains. “I mean--the Firbolg grew up in the middle of fuck-all nowhere too, and even _he_ knew of the school.” The Firbolg nods affirmatively, which Fitzroy gestures to pointedly. “See? Plus, there isn’t a guarantee that the demon prince doesn’t have spies all the way out here. I-If we’re made to believe he was able to, just, step in and have everyone be okay with it; it can be assumed he has a pretty heavy number of spies incognito. They could be _anywhere_.” Argo huffs, crossing his arms. 

“I think that’s just yer paranoia talkin’, Fitz.” 

“So what if it is!?” Fitzroy retorts. “It’s not like I wouldn’t be _justified_ in being hesitant to walk into this town without a plan in mind! Besides, we’re supposed to be _dead_ , remember? Even if they wouldn’t know us, word might...I don’t know, spread? Spread beyond the confines of this desert town? And maybe get back to Last Hope, where everyone has presumed us dead? _Then_ what do we do, Argo? What do we do then!?” 

“ _Alright_ !” Argo shouts, turning away from Fitzroy. “ _Fuck_ , you don’t need to be like that, ya know!? This is hard on _all_ of us!” He gets up, stalking off to breathe, as Fitzroy bristles. The tension bakes them more than the residual heat of the earth, and the trio falls into silence. Fitzroy angrily whittles away at a stick with Argo’s dagger while he’s off sulking, and the Firbolg continues to sit and prod the fire. Eventually, Argo returns and plops back down with a huff. 

After another hour of tense silence, Fitzroy speaks up again. 

“I’m sorry…” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on his task. “I...I know this is hard, I just. I took it too far, and I will admit that. I...I’m sorry, Argo.” Argo looks at Fitzroy, the gentle glow of the fire lighting the barbarian in a way that is both beautiful and sad. He sighs, scooting over to place a gentle hand on Fitzroy’s shoulder, who jumps at the contact. His head snaps up to look at Argo, the space between them reduced to a measly few inches. Argo isn’t sure whether it’s the heat that is making Fitzroy’s cheeks tinge red. 

“I-It’s okay, Fitz,” Argo says, patting Fitzroy’s shoulder so the contact isn’t awkward. “I, uh, I shoulda been nicer to you about it. Yer just tryin’ to keep us prepared, and I should’ve been more receptive to your feelings too…” Fitzroy stares for a second after Argo finishes, almost like he’s transfixed by something before the words register in his mind. 

“I--Thank you…” Fitzroy mutters, unsure of why his stomach is swirling so viciously. Was it something he ate? The pair remain in this moment until the Firbolg chuckles. The noise breaks their trance, causing Argo to awkwardly move his hand back to his lap and scoot away from Fitzroy, who equally as awkwardly turns away to the Firbolg. “What’s so funny?” The Firbolg smiles mischievously and shakes his head, returning to tending the fire with another chuckle. 

“Ah, is...firbolg joke, you would not understand.” He vaguely explains, not budging even under the scrutinous eyes of his friends. Fitzroy rolls his eyes and decides to drop it, returning to his whittling. Argo stares into the fire before an idea dawns on him. 

“What about Nott?” Argo asks, seemingly inspired. Fitzroy furrows his brows. 

“Not what?” He replies, to which Argo shakes his head. 

“Not ‘not’, Nott!” He clarifies (in some sense of the word). The other two stare at him just as confused. Argo sighs. “N-O-T-T. Nott! Fer my name! Kinda sounds like the end of mine, Argonaut. Naut, so Nott!” 

Fitzroy makes a disgusted noise and shakes his head. “That’s ugly, why on Nua would you want to be called that?” 

“Well, does anyone _else_ have any suggestions?” Argo retorts teasingly. Fitzroy stops whittling his stick to think this over, looking at Argo for a long moment for inspiration. 

“Maybe Aaron?” He suggests, “It’s innocuous enough, has enough of the letters from Argonaut to not feel weird in the mouth. Actually sounds _good_ to say.” Argo rolls his eyes but is unable to deny that Aaron _does_ sound better than Nott. 

“I suppose yer...right about that,” Argo secedes, to Fitzroy’s delight. “Alright, so I’m Aaron. Aaron….uh, Kennedy. Aaron Kennedy? Is that anything?” 

“It’s certainly a name,” Fitzroy replies, and it’s enough of an affirmation that Argo cements the name in his mind. “Hm, I suppose for me I could...maybe use my middle name?” 

“You have...name in middle?” The Firbolg asks, the concept baffling. “Why need name for middle? You...are already Fitzroy.” 

“It’s just, like, an extra name, I guess? My mother liked it, and the Maplecourts have a history of long names that have some familial significance. Heritage and the like, you understand.” Fitzroy explains, not quite sure if the Firbolg _does_ understand. Given the death grip he suddenly has on his hair, he does not. 

“This is ridiculous! The con-cept of a name is already mystery, but more name is apparently...needed to sig-ni-fy person!? Why is that so!? What is purpose!?” The Firbolg wails, images of statistics and accounting classes flashing through his mind. Fitzroy, panicked, leans over and pats the Firbolg on the back, in the hopes it soothes him. Argo tries not to laugh at the whole situation, but lets out a snort that makes Fitzroy glare at him in annoyance. That action sends Argo into hysterics, as the trio devolves into banter and discussion of the importance of names. 

By the time they’ve settled into bed, three new identities have been formed. 

Fitzroy Jean-Paul Maplecourt becomes Roy Fitzgerald. Argonaut Keene is now Aaron Kennedy. And the Firbolg? 

...Well, they’re just gonna call him Bud and hope that catches on. 

\---

That night, Argo finds himself unable to sleep. The anxiety of working under a new identity, plus the excitement of finally seeing another person mingles in his gut and courses energy through his veins. Even though he _should_ be tired, he feels the most awake he’s been in weeks. The stiffness of the ground underneath him is no help, either. Making him toss and turn even more frequently, so as to not wake up with any sore spots. 

Eventually, he gives up on sleep and decides to keep watch (though they haven’t had anxieties of anyone following them for quite some time). He sits up and stretches his back, sighing contentedly when his spine pops a few times. With that settled, he looks around at their tiny campsite and immediately notices Fitzroy is gone. 

The Firbolg sleeps in a mound, looking similar to a clump of mossy dirt, but Fitzroy is not next to them. Panic immediately shoots through Argo as he quickly stands, using his keen rogue senses to perceive his surroundings. It doesn’t take his roguish abilities to notice the light a handful of feet away, illuminating the back of the half-elf as he crouches over the miserable excuse for a stream. Argo slowly and quietly makes his way over so as to not startle the Firbolg awake. 

When he gets close enough, he can see Fitzroy take Argo’s dagger to his own head, using it like a razor to clean the back of his head. His hair had been getting long throughout this journey, irritating the barbarian and forcing him to keep it in a bun or high ponytail most of the time. Judging by the clumps of hair on the ground, he seems to have cut off a decent amount, making the length a half inch above his shoulders. What he looks to be doing now is giving himself an undercut in the back, shaving nearly to the skin the hair on the lower half of the back of his head. It’s a messy affair, given the dagger, but it’s...surprisingly clean. A decent look on the half-elf. 

(A little hot, if Argo is being honest. But, he’s a rogue, so he’s obviously not being very honest) 

In his staring, he fails to notice the slight decline of the stream, so he slips and loses his footing with a muffled shout. He lands in the stream, immediately pushing himself out of the muddy water to see Fitzroy staring back. He expects to see the half-elf petrified, maybe halfway through charging up a spell or readying the dagger to throw in his face. Instead, Fitzroy has his mouth hidden in his hand, shaking with silent laughter. Argo feels a flush flood his face, but he decides to ignore it and lean over to see if the Firbolg heard that. Luckily, the mammoth of a man can sleep through anything, so they’re good. 

“You, uh, you needed a little dip, huh?” Fitzroy asks, his voice barely above a whisper and wavering with laughter. Argo gives Fitzroy an unimpressed look, sending him into silent hysterics. 

“Yeah, sure, buddy. Just got up to take a little dip, y’know how it is.” he replies flatly, unable to maintain his cool when he sees Fitzroy practically fall over with his silent laughter. It cracks a smile across the genasi’s face, giving him a few laughs as he pulls himself out of the murky water to sit beside Fitzroy. 

Once his silent laughter fades, Fitzroy sits back up and looks to Argo. “Can’t sleep?” he asks with a knowing smirk. Argo nods, which Fitzroy returns in kind. “Yeah, me too...It’s weird, isn’t it? Knowing that tomorrow, we’ll...just be new people…” 

“Yeah…” Argo trails off, looking back at Fitzroy. He looks weighted by something--his shoulders hunched down and his posture leaning over towards the stream--and sadness hides deep in his sea-blue irises. Argo feels like he should say something--a piece of advice, an understanding pleasantry, an admittance that Argo understands far more about Fitzroy than he realizes--but he holds off. Regardless of new identities, he still feels sworn to his secrecy. The Unbroken Chain was his mother’s burden to bear, and so now it will be his. The things he knows about Fitzroy were taken in hopes that it would _protect_ him, though all it has seemed to do is leave too many awkward pauses between the two when they’re alone. Still, Argo fears what their friendship may be if he admits to his deeds, so he remains silent. Even if that silence wedges them farther apart. 

“Want me to cut your hair?” Fitzroy’s voice pulls Argo from his train of thought, who quizzically looks at Fitzroy. He’s holding the dagger out towards Argo, offering. Instinctively, Argo reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, leaning away. 

“W-Why? Does it look bad?” Argo asks, concerned. Fitzroy seems confused by this before realizing something and shaking his head. 

“Not at all! I just--you know, with our new identities and all, a change of look might be beneficial! For, uh, getting into character and--I realize that was rather sudden, but you seemed lost in thought and I-I just.” He moves the dagger away from Argo, nervously fiddling with the handle and turning back towards the stream. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” 

“No, no! Yer not offendin’ me!” Argo immediately attempts to recover, leaning back towards Fitzroy and holding a hand out. “I-I just--it was unexpected! I haven’t cut my hair in...gods, years? Longer back than I can remember, if I’m honest. I dunno if…” he trails off, uncertainty laden in his tone. Truth be told, the only reason he’s yet to cut it is because he doesn’t know _how_. Shebrie was in charge of managing his head, and the last time she cut it was before… 

“It’s fine, Argo, you can say no.” Fitzroy saves Argo from yet another spiraling train of thought, looking back at the genasi with a soft, understanding smile. That smile does something to Argo; makes his limbs shake and his stomach tie into knots. He looks at that smile and sees nothing but kindness and care; a smile Fitzroy so rarely gives to others. Like a precious jewel, and he offers it to Argo like it’s a measly pebble. Argo would do anything for that smile--more than he’s willing to realize. 

He feels safe and impulsive and far too warm as he breathes out, “Okay.” That smile briefly leaves his face as Fitzroy tries to figure out what Argo is talking about. 

“Okay what?” 

“Cut my hair.” Argo says quickly, hoping to chase the high of that smile for just a little longer. Fitzroy huffs out a laugh, confused but amused, and stands. He goes behind Argo and gently pulls the hair tie loose, wearing it on his wrist as he carefully pulls through his waves. The sensation sends shivers down Argo’s whole body, making him close his eyes and tilt his head back slightly. 

“How, uh...how short were you thinking?” Fitzroy asks after pulling through a few knots. 

“Dealer’s choice,” Argo simply replies, humming peacefully. Fitzroy looks down at Argo for a moment, judging the genasi’s state of mind, before shrugging and carefully holding his hair in one hand. 

The process, as a whole, is quite relaxing. Fitzroy doesn’t say much as he cuts, carefully passing the dagger through every strand with a precision unexpected from such a wild-magicked barbarian. Argo keeps his eyes shut the entire time, content in feeling the sensation and little else, occasionally responding to Fitzroy’s questions about length and style. Eventually, Fitzroy asks Argo to turn around, and when he does so he finds Fitzroy kneeling right in front of him. He carefully holds Argo by the jaw, coercing his head to turn one way as he cuts the hair on the side of his head. 

Argo keeps his eyes open during this whole part, subconsciously drinking in every minute detail of the half-elf’s face as his focus remains on his hair. 

Eventually, Fitzroy puts the dagger down and leans back to admire his work, a pleased smile spreading across his features. 

“I think that’s it!” Fitzroy announces, clapping his hands together delightedly and gesturing for Argo to turn around. He does so, peering into the stream to look at his reflection, and gasps at what he sees. He should’ve been able to feel how short it was by weight _alone_ , but seeing it so short really cements in his mind the decision he made. The top of it is a little longer than the sides, allowing him room for styling, but the sides are practically gone. He starts to feel all around his head, webbed fingers barely passing through hair in the back. Despite the length, he still looks good; Fitzroy chose a style that suits his face shape well. 

“I-It’s great!” Argo stammers, barely able to speak in his excitement. “Fitzroy, I-- _Thank you_ , this looks--I-I look-- _wow_!” He watches Fitzroy come up beside him in the reflection of the stream, giving Argo another one of those sacred smiles. His heart skips a beat at the look Fitzroy is giving him--soft, gentle, hiding something beneath the surface that Argo is desperate to find. He places Argo’s dagger on the ground next to the genasi and pats his shoulder. 

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he says, honey-sweet and warm. Argo’s hands itch to reach up, to grab the hand on his shoulder and hold it. But he restrains the urge, letting Fitzroy’s touch linger for a moment before pulling away. Fitzroy’s arms go up in a stretch as a long yawn passes through him. “Oh, goodness, I...I best be heading to bed now. Goodnight, _Aaron_.” Argo snorts and turns around, watching Fitzroy leave with a wave and a smirk. 

“Night, _Roy_!” Argo whisper-shouts, listening to Fitzroy’s quiet laughter as he walks back towards the Firbolg. He waits until the sound of footsteps is far enough off, then sighs and flops onto his back. 

Truth is, Argo is _painfully_ aware of his feelings for Fitzroy. They’ve been lingering within him since they met, and have only grown to be more bothersome the more he’s gotten to know Fitzroy. What started as simple attraction became infatuation before completely merging into an all-out crush. The half-elf is just so... _different_ . He’s new, exciting, unlike anyone Argo has or ever _will_ meet (and he’s met quite a number of folks, in his day). He hides so much beneath the sheer facade he touts that only continues to pique Argo’s interest, secretly relishing in every genuine thought or emotion the barbarian expresses. He wants to _know_ Fitzroy, inside and out. Not for the Unbroken Chain, but for the sole privilege of being a person Fitzroy trusts enough with that information. 

But that reason alone is why Argo is certain he can never say anything. Because Fitzroy _doesn’t_ trust him--hasn’t for a while. At the school, he carried himself differently when he was alone with Argo. Like he knew, deep down, that Argo was hiding something. That, of course, ended up being accidentally confirmed while Fitzroy was cursed; but that conversation they were supposed have just...never happened. Primarily because they’ve been on the run ever since, but Argo isn’t even sure how he’d bring it up _now_. And what good would it do to break the trust he has with Fitzroy now, when Argo and the Firbolg are all Fitzroy has? 

So he’ll remain quiet, probably forever. Or until someone comes along to pull his focus away. 

Though, as the genasi cards another hand through his newly-cut hair, he’s certain a person like that doesn’t exist. 

\---

Argo awakens to a gentle prod of the shoulder, having fallen asleep beside the stream after having his hair cut. The Firbolg has many questions as to why his friends decided to change their looks overnight, and the two do their best to answer as many of them as easily as possible during breakfast. The sun is just barely peeking above the horizon when the three finally leave the forest for good, abandoning any signifiers of their old life in the stream with their hair. This leaves Fitzroy to clumsily explain why he’s been wearing fake glasses the entire time during their walk to the town, giving the other two quite the laugh. 

They reach the town a little after 10 AM, dusty and sweaty and ready for a new life. The residents eye the trio warily as they make their way further in, scanning shop names and residential spots hoping to find a hostel or saloon. It is increasingly evident that this town receives very few visitors, judging by the looks and whispers that follow the Thundermen, and certainly not visitors that look like they’ve been walking for weeks on end. Fitzroy ignores the whispers and swallows his pride; he’s got a lifetime of experience being the outcast, and he’s not about to let some curious passersby scare him off. The Firbolg, already a hulking nine-foot mass, is used to stares. He understands he is a rarity in most places and tries to not let the scared looks in children’s eyes discourage him. It does make him sad, though, but that’s par for the course by now. Argo is the least aware of the looks, rapidly turning from left to right to look at all the businesses they pass by. Growing up on the sea, Argo was a stranger to every seaport city they visited, so he’s never felt strange in situations like this. Shebrie taught him to be confident in himself and to love the world as it loves him, making him the source of positivity for the other two to siphon. 

Eventually they pass by the sheriff’s office--stated plainly by the sign on the building that says “Sheriff’s”--and someone finally stops them. He’s an older man, around his 50’s, with tanned skin that sports a number of lighter scars. His hair is dark brown underneath his wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat, and he has kind brown eyes. He’s on the shorter side, big but with considerable muscle in his arms. He wears the typical sheriff’s attire--button-up shirt, jeans, gold-star-plated belt, holster for a flashlight and a wand, and cowboy boots with shiny spurs. 

“Woah, there, fellas!” He calls out, the Thundermen turning to face the man as he steps down off the porch of the sheriff’s office to address them. “The whole town’s been buzzin’ ‘bout you three, why dont’cha stop and chat with me for’a moment?” The confrontation was inevitable, but it still puts the three on-guard as Fitzroy steps forward just a bit. 

“Of course,” Fitzroy replies, casually slipping into the voice from his youth. The changes are subtle to the ear, but to Argo and the Firbolg they’re _massive_. His shrill, nasally tone flattens--not losing its pitch, but rather the peaks and valleys his tone dips into. He also loses that bravado that always layers his speech, sounding much more casual and calm. Along with that, his speech is slower, giving less attention to the harshness of his consonants and spending more time on the length of his vowels. This obviously isn’t a practiced accent--it’s an innate vocal pattern Fitzroy’s been choosing to hide with extra trinkets and trifles. The way he turns to it so easily in front of a stranger tells Argo more about Fitzroy’s life than any letter. 

The son of a caravaner, after all. 

“We don’t get many visitors ‘round these parts, what brings you three in here?” The sheriff continues, sounding not in any way offended or defensive. Just simply curious. Fitzroy sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his feet. 

“Well, me an’ my friends here are on...a bit of journey,” Fitzroy explains, reciting parts of their practiced lie so as to not leave the Firbolg in a compromising situation. “We’ve been lookin’ for a new place to settle down, start workin’ to build our business, and the city just wasn’t cuttin’ it for inspiration. We wanted to go out and find somewhere we could call home for a while, some place we could work and feel like our work is makin’ some sort of difference. You get what I’m saying?” The sheriff nods, seeming pleased with that answer. 

“Ah, a couple’a young men lookin’ for work! That’s exactly what this town needs!” he says with a laugh. “Pardon my manners, I forgot t’introduce myself! The name’s Jasper. I’m the Sheriff, if y’couldn’t tell by the badge and the hat already!” He tips his hat politely. “What’re your names?” 

“My name’s Roy,” Fitzroy introduces, giving a slight nod of his head. “My genasi friend right here’s Aaron, and that big fella is Bud. Pleased to meet ya, Sheriff Jasper!” He sticks his hand out for Jasper to shake, the other two following suit with their own polite smiles. With pleasantries out of the way, Jasper eyes the three up and down and shakes his head. 

“Fantasy Jesus, y’all look like you’ve been hit by a tornado! You just come here with the clothes on yer backs?” 

“‘Fraid so,” Fitzroy replies, solemnly shaking his head. “Got ambushed by a couple’a vagabonds a ways back, been traveling bare-backed ever since.” Jasper shakes his head and tuts, immediately taking the bait by taking pity on them. 

“Damn bandits, they been hangin’ around the outskirts of our town fer years. No matter how hard we try to catch ‘em, they always find a way…” Jasper trails off, reaching out to hook an arm around Fitzroy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you fellas follow me and I’ll get y’all set up with some new clothes? Courtesy of the Sheriff’s Department of Dust Field!” He leads the three down the street, seemingly scaring away any prying eyes with his presence beside the newcomers, to the tailor’s shop. There, he lets the trio go through the various button-ups, vests, and jeans whilst chatting with the owner (a stout, balding man by the name of Elliot). Eventually the boys settle on their outfits, thanking Sheriff Jasper for his kindness as he leads them to the shoemaker next. Each Thunderman gets a brand new pair of cowboy boots to correspond with their outfits. 

With their clothing acquired, the sheriff continues to lead them, sharing bits of history and information on the town of Dust Field with them along the way. 

“Now, I’m sure you can assume the name’s origin comes from the dry desert we are surrounded in, but what if I told ya that wasn’t the case?” Jasper explains, gesturing as they go along. “The town was _actually_ named after its founder, Dustin Scritchfield. He, of course, is _dead_ now; but him and his husband traveled here and settled in so nicely they drew a whole herd of people out to the middle of nowhere! The name is a play on words, actually. Dustin Scritchfield--take out the ‘in’ and the ‘scritch’ and you got Dust Field! Equally representin’ both the area we live in and the man who allowed us to live here!” Fitzroy nods along, having silently made the decision to lead the group through the early days of public relations with the locals. Better to set a good example than to let their cover accidentally be blown. 

“‘S fascinating stuff, Sheriff Jasper.” Fitzroy replies. “Say, where is it that you’re takin’ us to?” 

“Someone who might be able to help you fellas out,” Jasper explains with a smile. “We ain’t completely unused to visitors, even if y’all gave us a bit of a start. I know someone who’ll be able to house ya for a while for very little, since y’all got robbed I’m imaginin’ y’all don’t have much in terms of money.” 

“Not a scrap of silver on any of us,” Fitzroy responds easily. 

“I figured. Jenny’s real understandin’ of that--will probably just ask for work in exchange for yer lodging, until you can start makin’ enough to afford a place of yer own.” Jasper says, just as they approach two big buildings on opposite sides of the street. One is a saloon, named Bustin’s Bar, and the other looks to be some kind of apartment building. On the steps of the saloon is a woman, probably no older than thirty, with red hair done in a braid down her back. She’s sitting next to another woman (mid to late twenties) with remarkably pale skin and faded pink hair. They’re holding hands and laughing, which makes the smile on Jasper’s face grow fond. 

“Hey, Jenny! Got a coupla fellas who need ya!” Jasper calls out, startling the two women. The pale one makes eye contact with the Thundermen and immediately enters the saloon, while the redhead--presumably Jenny--stands and puts her hands on her hips with a smile. 

“Ah, so _these_ are the folks I been hearin’ so much about!” Jenny states with a laugh, meeting Jasper halfway to greet the boys. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Jenny Parker-Ross, proprietor of Bustin’s Bar _and_ owner of Parker Lumber, along with the apartment building across the street.” Jenny is a broad woman, with powerful arms barely contained in her flannel. She stands at a good six feet tall, but she doesn’t bother to crane her neck up to look at Fitzroy. She’s fair-skinned with a healthy smattering of freckles and a wide, bright smile. She sticks a hand out for Fitzroy to shake, who is briefly shocked at her strong grip. 

“Pleasure is all ours, the name’s Roy,” Fitzroy goes through the introductions one more time, allowing the other two to say hello and shake Jenny’s hand. Jasper stands by and watches this all happen before turning to Jenny. 

“Jenny, these folks are here for business. They wanna work! But they got robbed by bandits on the way into town, so they ain’t gotta lick of cash on any of ‘em. Y’think you can give ‘em some lodging, for the time being? I told them you’d likely want some labor in return, and they’re eager to get goin’.” Jasper explains, Jenny thoughtfully nodding the whole while. She considers the trio in front of them, sizing up each one individually. 

“Hmm…” Jenny mumbles, bringing a hand to her chin to rub at it. “I suppose Lyra’s been needin’ another hand at the bar, and I could put these two big boys to work in my shop…” She drops her hands with a laugh. “Aw, who am I kiddin’? I’m not a _monster_ , of course y’all have a place to stay with me! I got plenty of empty apartments in that ol’ building, I’m just gonna need some work from ya in order to pay for the lights n’ things!” The sheriff lets out a deep belly laugh, leaving the three to awkwardly play along. 

“We really appreciate that, Ms. Parker,” Argo speaks up, to which Jenny waves him off. 

“Please, it’s Jenny! Also, not a miss--haven’t been a miss since last summer!” She says, pointing a thumb towards the saloon. “My wife was the one who snuck off earlier. You’ll have to excuse her, she’s a bit awkward around strangers, but once you get t’know her she’s a gem.” Her voice turns fond at the end as she fiddles with the wedding ring on her left hand. A part of Argo aches for that kind of honest love, and he pointedly avoids looking at Fitzroy. 

With that settled, Jenny shows the trio to their apartment, where they can shower and change and come back to the saloon for a hot meal, on the house. She informs them that they can take today and the next day to themselves, that she’ll have them working bright and early Monday morning. It occurs to the Thundermen, at this point, that they’d completely forgotten about time during their journey. How long have they been gone? Days? Weeks? Time begins to blend when so much of it is spent doing the same task. 

They each bathe and change into their new clothes before promptly taking a nap. The apartment is a two-bed, two-bath with a spacious living room and kitchen area. The apartment is also furnished, with one full-sized bed in one room and two twins in the other. The Firbolg elects to sleep on the floor of the living room, leaving Argo with two beds while Fitzroy bolts to claim the full-size. The three rest comfortably for the first time in a long time, and by the time they wake up the sun has gone down. 

Several plates of hot food await them on the kitchen counter, a note from Jenny simply saying: 

_Didn’t realize you boys needed so much rest! Guess you must’ve come from far away, huh? Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy your dinner. I didn’t really know what you would like, so I gave you a little bit of everything! Feel free to stop by the bar when you’re done, if you feel up to doing so!_

_Signed,_

_Jenny ;P_

Food is quickly passed around and scarfed down; this marks the first real, genuine meal they’ve had since _before_ their real-world assignment. Very little is said between them as they eat, each acclimating to the new space in their own way. There’s been no talk of this being a permanent situation--scratch that, there’s been little talk of this situation _at all_. Save for deciding what they’d do when they got there, no one has discussed if there’s any possibility of returning to the lives they once led. There’s too many factors to consider in the span of one dinner, so the topic has been left untouched.

“I...think I will stay,” The Firbolg says after they’ve eaten, staring down at his empty plate blankly. “Here, I mean. For...the night. You two may go, if you wish.” 

“Whaddya mean?” Argo says with a frown, before remembering the note left with their meal. “Oh! You mean to the _bar_. Yeah, sure! You can stay home if you don’t wanna, Firby!” He smiles and gets up from the dining table, taking a few of the plates to the sink to wash. He assumes they’ll be needing to return these, eventually. “I was thinkin’ of poppin’ over there for a bit, actually! You know, chat up the locals, get some insight, maybe get a couple of complimentary ‘new people’ drinks.” The last bit is said with a wiggle of his shoulders as he turns on the sink and scrubs at the dishes. “But if you wanna stay here with the Firbolg, yer free to do so, Fitzroy! You’ve been takin’ a brunt of the communications work, and as our CCO I thank you for yer service.” Fitzroy smiles at that and does a few bows from his chair. 

“Why thank you, thank you,” he says, getting a laugh out of the two. “But I think I _will_ go, if you don’t mind the company. I need a drink, after the, uh... _life_ we’ve had recently.” He stands, retrieving the rest of the plates to bring them over to Argo. Argo feels the warmth of Fitzroy on his side as he leans over to put the rest of the dishes in the sink, and his knees nearly go weak at the contact. 

“I’d _always_ mind your company,” Argo breathes out, until he realizes what he said. “Or--I _don’t_ mind yer--I-I _want_ you to come with me! Yeah, that’s what I meant!” Fitzroy chuckles, a sensation Argo can feel because of their proximity. With all the dishes collected, Fitzroy walks back to the living room and flops on the couch, his legs dangling over the arm of it. Argo curses himself for missing the warmth and makes quick work of the dishes. 

After digesting for thirty minutes, the two wish the Firbolg a good night and head over to Bustin’s Bar. 

\---

Though the town is small, the bar is packed. It seems like the saloon is a beacon for the residents, cramming into every possible booth and seat to share some drinks and some laughs. Jenny and Lyra are both behind the bar, chatting with patrons and passing out drinks, but when Jenny spots the pair she hops over the counter to greet them. Her hair has gone from a braid to a bun, a few fly-aways sticking out as she bounds over and gives the two a solid hug. 

“Hey, you two made it!” She cheers, pulling away to slap them both on the shoulder. “Where’s that big fella? Too tired?” 

“Bud’s not really too big on crowds,” Fitzroy replies, his casual accent peeking through once more. “But we’re awful grateful for you leaving us dinner.” He looks to Argo, subtly moving his head to continue. 

“Oh, yeah! Thanks so much, Jenny! Food was _phenomenal_ , really great stuff!” Argo adds on, giving a chef’s kiss with one hand. The action makes Jenny laugh, though Fitzroy subtly eyes him in a “are you fucking serious” way. She worms her way between them and throws both arms across their shoulders, walking them towards the bar and gesturing to her wife with a nod of her head. 

“Aw, flattery will get you _everywhere_ , lemme tell y’all now. Whaddya two wanna drink? It’s on the house, since I know y’all’re pretty strapped.” Jenny says, stopping them right at the bar so she can hop back over the counter. Fitzroy orders straight whiskey, producing a flask from seemingly nowhere and handing it off for her to fill. Argo orders his usual: gin and tonic, twist of lime, with extra lime. The two receive their drinks and begin chatting around. 

Argo learns an awful lot that night. First and foremost being that Fitzroy is actually a force to be reckoned with in the drinking department. He sips straight whiskey without so much as a squint, and when shots start getting passed around he takes them like a champ. Argo, on the other hand, knows how he gets once the tequila starts going around and sticks to his gin and tonic. He also learns about the two women running the whole operation. 

Jenny is a local, as is evident from her accent. Lyra, on the other hand, is not. Jenny wasn’t wrong in her assessment of her wife; Lyra keeps to herself for most of the night, until she is coerced by her wife to talk to the newcomers. Her voice is one of an out-of-towner; slightly Northern accent with a relatively flat tone and fast pace. She talks like she’s always on the verge of being cut off; and though she tries to keep herself emotionless, her moments of energy show the truth of the person she hides underneath. Argo also learns--from a few subtle cues as well as Lyra saying so--that she’s a changeling; a fact that she does not shy away from. Her pale skin and naturally almost-white blonde hair are the usual tells for changelings, though she’s admitted to changing a few of her more self-conscious features to make her look like the woman she is now. She explains that she ended up in Dust Field by mistake; that she was supposed to get off at a different train stop, but then bandits raided the train and she had to escape the train early. Her and her rat (“possum-sized rat son” are Lyra’s exact words) Ferdinand then wandered the desert until they found Dust Field, and--evidently--her soulmate. The two are very much in-love, as is evident in literally _everything_ they do, and the interactions fill Argo with a mix of joy and longing. 

Fitzroy clams up around the changeling story (for some reason), but is able to bounce back when conversation moves to Lyra’s pet. The two talk pet care for a long time--long enough that Argo orders two more gin and tonics before it’s over. Then, the bar surges with life again, and the two women are forced to focus on their jobs. Fitzroy and Argo stand around the bar for a little while longer, chatting with a few of the locals who come up to them, but eventually Argo sees Fitzroy stand and start to make his way towards the door. Argo wishes the old man he’s been chatting ships with a good night and follows his friend’s path. 

By the time Argo worms his way through the crowd and out the door, Fitzroy is already seated on the stoop of the apartment building, sipping from his flask and staring at the dirt between his feet. Argo makes his way over and leans on the building beside Fitzroy, watching him cap his flask. 

“I been meanin’ to ask, where’d you get that thing, anyway?” Argo asks, gesturing to Fitzroy’s flask. Fitzroy looks up at Argo, then to his flask. He runs a thumb over the smooth detailing on the face of it with a small smile. 

“It was my father’s. Mom gave it to me before I left for knight school; said I ‘probably wouldn’t need it', but it’s never too bad to keep around,” Fitzroy says, his voice soft. He doesn’t revert back to the way Argo’s used to hearing him talk, the rustic tone of his voice a gentle croon against the muffled noise of the bar. Argo feels his heart thud in his chest and ignores it. 

“I’ve never seen you use it, though! Hell, before tonight, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you _drink_!” Argo states with a laugh. Fitzroy doesn’t join him, continuing to stare down at the ground as he unscrews the lid again. 

“Yeah, well, maybe if you stuck around past seven you would’ve.” Fitzroy’s voice is bitter as he takes another swig, pulling the rug out from under Argo’s mood immediately. Suddenly, Argo can feel the weight of the world back on his shoulders, as tension builds between them. Argo kicks at the dirt beneath his feet, dirtying his shiny black boots. 

“...Are we really gonna have this conversation right now?” Argo starts, not surprised when Fitzroy angrily whips his head around. 

“What, would you have just--just preferred I’d _forgotten_ everything? Would that make you feel better, _Aaron_?” 

“You don’t have to be a _prick_ about it, _Roy_ \--” 

“--Oh, _I’m_ being the prick about it! I see, I see. So the guy who’s been sneaking around this entire time gets to tell _me_ I’m being a prick, okay--” 

“--Look, I dunno what you want me to say--” 

“--You could _start_ with why you know so much about me.” Fitzroy spits out, huffing as he looks at Argo with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You could start with _that_ b--because the last time _I_ checked, roommates don’t start digging through other roommates’ personal lives just for the hell of it.” And suddenly, there it is: the elephant. Argo stares back at Fitzroy, chewing the inside of his mouth with the fervor of a rabid tiger, as he considers his options. 

There’s a right and wrong thing to do here. There’s a knowing and an unknowing. The only problem is, Argo isn’t sure which pairs up with which. 

“I--I _had_ to, okay?!” Argo gets out, eyes clenched shut. “I-I’m involved in a secret organization, a-and they _asked_ me to get information on you because--b-because _I don’t know_ ! They’re working to restore balance to the universe or something and my Ma was a part of it and she’d _never_ be a part of something if it wasn’t good and so when Jackal came to me I just said _yes_ because I wanna make my Ma proud, but then they gave me the assignment an-and I didn’t know it was going to be about _you_ , and they didn’t tell me _why_ but I made them _swear_ that whatever I told them wouldn’t be used to hurt you ‘cause I _care about you_ a-an--and I just...I had to...I’m sorry…” 

Argo pants and pants, eyes still clenched shut as he comes down from giving that whole spiel. The only sounds between them are Argo’s own breaths and the cheers of people from across the street. When Argo finally chances a look at Fitzroy, he sees the half-elf standing, white-knuckled grip on his flask. There is a deep hurt set in the lines of his jaw as he stares at the genasi, the air beginning to crackle with electricity. 

“Well, look where that fucking care got us,” Is all Fitzroy says, throwing his flask down on the ground before charging inside. Argo stares at the flask in the dirt, wincing when he hears the door slam, and waits for his breathing to return to normal. 

Cautiously, he reaches down and picks up the flask. He inspects it for a moment before unscrewing the cap. He takes a long, long drink--nearly finishing the whole thing off, but he leaves just a little bit in the bottom. 

He savors the sensation of cool metal against his lips, willing his mind to picture the man whose lips touched it prior. The alcohol burns, but it barely holds a candle to his searing guilt. When the deed is done, he screws the lid back on and stands in the cool air. 

Argo savors the moment--his last, honest moment with Fitzroy--before making his way back inside. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences are faced. Advice is given. 
> 
> Argo and Fitzroy make promises they intend to keep. 
> 
> The Firbolg takes a shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends!! going to keep this short bc im absolutely deranged right now from writing all day! are u guys sensing a pattern as to how i work?? yeah lmao gjhrbgjhgbhjrg 
> 
> anyway! sorry for the delay! life happens and so do emotions, and y'just gotta deal with it! but this was a lot of fun to do!! a lot of things laid out on the table for me to play with in the future teehee 
> 
> ALSO!! i'm shouting out the people who have made beautiful amazing art of this so far!! if YOU want a shoutout in the next chapter and feel like makin' some swaggy art, make sure to tag me on tumblr (url is fitzroythecreator)!! 
> 
> shoutout to matt (@accesscodex on tumblr) for [this beautiful art](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/622603652866228224/hi-read-this-read-this-read-this-thanks) AND [this amazing comic](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/623173684402733056/lesbiansusie-wrote-a-very-good-fic-please-read)!!! wowowow gay bitch!! love u smelly <3 
> 
> shoutout to my beautiful wonderful amazing lovely hot fun sexy girlfriend corinne (@maplekeene on tumblr) for [this art](https://maplekeene.tumblr.com/post/622832086204678144/please-read-this-please-please-please-hello) (as well as all the other shit u send me that doesn't get posted <3 teehee love u babe) 
> 
> anyway, that's all i got! hopefully next chapter doesn't take me nearly a month <3 
> 
> remember to kudos and comment if u enjoyed! love u bitches <3

Word travels faster than footfalls. 

Faster than that, even, is the flight of one sole falcon making the tireless journey back to Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy; clutching an apple and a final message back to its confined co-founder. 

Higglemas awakens to the call of the falcon, opening the glass doors leading to his balcony to let the bird inside. The bird lands on his desk, carefully dropping its cargo atop scattered stacks of papers. Higglemas looks surprised by the sight of the apple, relatively pristine (minus the punctures from the falcon’s talons) and glistening yellow-gold onto the papers around it. 

“Wh--How did they--” Higglemas starts, looking confused at the falcon (who is now sitting atop its designated perch). The bird nods towards the apple again, giving Higglemas the time to notice the paper stabbed through the stem of the apple. He approaches his desk and carefully plucks the note from the fruit, doing quite a bit of unfolding to reveal the short message within: 

_“Hieronymous” is preventing us from returning to the school. This was the only way the apple could be returned without risking our lives._

_Hope your dog brother is okay._

_Signed and Formally Dictated by the Thunderman Corporation LLC. Founder and CEO,_

_Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in Absentia of the Realm of Goodcastle_

He sets the note down beside the apple, staring at it with concern. He _knew_ he heard shifting tonight, little footfalls on the stone so unlike the sounds of students roaming the halls. But he didn’t know it was culminating in... _this_. Where are the boys now? Are they safe? They must be somewhere safe enough to send the apple back. 

What does “Hieronymous” know? Why has he switched tactics so quickly? 

Higglemas shakes his head of these anxieties and gets to work creating his potion. The falcon sits on its perch and watches the old man putter about his quarters, pulling ingredients from bookshelves and murmuring magics into the air. Morning blends to day and then suddenly turns to night once more when Higglemas finally stands, a vial of glowing liquid in each hand. He takes one of the vials and approaches the falcon, who opens its beak reflexively. Higglemas carefully pours some liquid into its mouth before taking a step back, allowing the falcon time to fly off its perch before thick trunks of legs sprout from its torso. 

Before his very eyes, the falcon becomes Leon once more, patting himself in disbelief as he finally takes in the changes. While he comes to terms with himself, Higglemas feeds the rest of the potion to his dog and then to himself, turning the elven brothers back to their former selves. They have a teary-eyed reunion--not a word shared between them--before turning their attention back to the student in the room. Leon stares at his own hands blankly, the promise he made finalizing his decision to say: 

“The Thundermen are dead.” 

Miles away, a pair of starry-eyed teens giggle as they traverse through the woods. Under the moonlight, the young lovers are able to gaze upon themselves and their love with glee, escaping from their hiking group to find an intimate spot for themselves. Little did they realize, upon entering the clearing, they would find the exact opposite of that. 

A shrill scream pierces the night’s sky as the couple gaze upon the day-old remains of Fitzroy, Argo, and the Firbolg. 

By morning, the press is already running the story. 

**BREAKING NEWS: Remains of Wiggenstaff Students Found in Woods Outside Town of Last Hope**

The shock ripples out in waves, hitting each person differently. 

Leon, after sharing his promise and promptly collapsing from exhaustion, finds his friends the next day gathered around Rainer. She clutches the newspaper in one hand, the other tightly gripping Zana’s over her shoulder as she reads the article over and over again. There are tears streaming down her face as she stares at the page, reddened cheeks showing she’s been crying for a while, and guilt grips Leon’s innards. Buckminster notices him first, doing a double-take from newspaper to Leon before breaking away from the group to crush the taller man in a tight hug. As much as his heart aches in sympathy for his friends’ sorrow, Leon can’t help but feel just a tiny sliver of joy to be able to hold his brother in his arms again. 

“L-Leon, where have you _been_ , we--” Buckminster says when he breaks the embrace. He looks conflicted--stuck between a myriad of emotions--but ultimately the shock of the current situation has him looking over his shoulder to the group. “Fitzroy and the others, they’ve been--” 

“--I know, Buck. I...I heard,” Leon replies, frowning towards his friends. “The whole school has been buzzing about it when I got back here.” 

“F-From _where_ , though, Leon, you--” Buckminster clutches at his head, confusion settling into the missing gaps of his memory. Leon can only watch this struggle, already aware of the spell he was put under to excuse Leon’s absence for the past few months. “I-I feel like I _remember_ where you went, but I also _don’t_ and it just--d-did you? I’m drawing a massive blank here and it’s _killing_ me because I _feel_ \--” Leon reaches a hand out to Buckminster’s shoulder, patting it reassuringly in an attempt to quell his anxiety. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” Leon says, his voice soothing and calm. It works to smooth out the ridges on Buckminster’s forehead, calming him in a way Leon could only know from growing up beside him (though not in the way he wished; in the way brothers typically do). Buckminster closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out through his nose before returning to the present. He looks up at Leon with a small smile, who returns it in kind. “When I can, I’ll explain everything that you missed. But for right now, we need to be here for our friends and we need to...to _grieve_ the loss of our other ones.” His words make the smile slip off Buckminster’s face, who turns back to look at the group solemnly. With a nod, the pair return to their friends, each of them taking a moment to register Leon’s presence. 

Rainer, the last to notice, wastes not a second in burying her face in her friend’s torso; muffled sobs escaping as Leon rubs her back calmingly. Though she is the most accustomed with death, with her father being a lich and all, it does not change the incredible emotion she feels when someone close to her is ripped from this world so suddenly. The bonds she makes with people go deeper than blood, and when that bond is yanked away it leaves a hole that can never quite be filled again. And though she considered all of the Thundermen close friends, it hurts her especially to know she will never hear Fitzroy complain about breakfast or whisper gossip during class. 

She’s an only child, and she knew Fitzroy was one, too. In their time together, Rainer thought they might actually be...siblings. Inseparable. Unstoppable. Closer than skin clung to flesh, and deeper than marrow inside bone. 

The sight of his face, smiling cheerily above his obituary, makes that bond feel all the more present. 

Her brother: _dead_. 

Though Death comes when she is needed, it doesn’t change Rainer’s anger as to _why now_? 

Across the building, Jackal reads the newspaper and then tears it to shreds. 

All of his classes are cancelled that day as he makes preparations to call an emergency meeting of the Unbroken Chain later on that evening. Luckily for him, pretty much the entire school cancelled all usual plans to allow the students time to process and mourn the loss of three of their classmates. Jackal doesn’t let his mind linger on the information, constantly flitting around from room to room--place to place--doing minor tasks to occupy himself. He doesn’t think about the crushing guilt of knowing he couldn’t save Argo, no matter how much he promised his mother he’d keep him safe. He doesn’t linger on what the last words he said to Argo may have been, hoping beyond hope they were meaningful and not just monotonous orders. He doesn’t question whether assigning Argo his task was the reason he is now dead; whether assigning the Fitzroy task should have gone to a more experienced member, instead of the new kid. 

He doesn’t think about any of that. He doesn’t think at all. 

Once the sun has dipped below the horizon, and the mourning students have returned to their quarters for some much-needed slumber, the Unbroken Chain gathers. Though, not in their usual place. 

They travel for miles without rest, traversing for most of the night until they reach their destination.

Saltwater wafts through the air as Jackal steps out of the carriage, clutching a single coin in his taloned hand. The group makes their way to the sandy shoreline and lights a few candles around them. Then, they join hands and pray. 

Deaths are typical amongst the Unbroken Chain. Being a secret organization sworn to help others without the world knowing, members are often flung into dangerous situations and gone without a trace. Shebrie is the only recent death that made any sort of impact; mostly because of the child she left behind. But, even though they received the news much later, they still mourned her in their own way. 

Jackal takes the membership coin (not Argo’s, for it likely remains amongst his remains) and one of the ceremonial candles, slowly encasing the coin in the dripping wax. Once the whole thing has been sealed in an ocean blue (for Argo and his mother), Jackal walks to the beach’s end. 

“I’m...sorry I couldn’t protect ya,” Jackal mutters, his voice a grim replica of the young man he cared so deeply for. “Now, at least, you can be with yer mother. That makes this all...hurt less, I think. Knowing you two are happy…” 

Then, with his members at his back and the endless ocean to his front, he throws the coin into the waves; watching the coin make a satisfying arc through the air before silently entering the water a good distance away. The rest of the Unbroken Chain members finish the ritual as Jackal watches the sea, willing every ounce of strength within him not to cry. He waits for the others to head back to the carriage before letting a single tear roll down his face. 

That night, he did not fly. But for one single, solitary moment, he gave another the gift of flight. And that, he thinks, is the least he can do for an old friend and a broken promise. 

Though not a lot of students at Wiggenstaff’s could consider themselves a friend (or even acquaintance) of Master Firbolg, somehow his absence becomes the most significant thing in those days following the news. The school just feels slightly...off. Like something that should’ve been there was missing; and, as a result, has brought the entire spirit of the school off-kilter. The grass looks less green. The halls feel more spacious. The absence of words hang in the air differently. 

In accounting class, the students struggle to accept the absence of the lumbering mass of the Firbolg seated smack dab in the middle of the room. That first day back, Professor Bartholomeus fumbles over his words frequently, half-expecting a voice of distress but never hearing it. He feels the oddity especially after the class concludes, when all the students awkwardly file their way out of the room. He slowly gathers his things to head off to lunch, only realizing when he faces the desks again that usually Master Firbolg would still be seated--clutching at his head and loudly requesting assistance. Instead, silence fills the room, making the atmosphere feel eerie and unsettling. He quickly finishes packing up his things and leaves the room without a word. 

Professor Hernandez notices the absence, too. Well, more specifically, the _animals_ do. Hernandez struggles to keep the peace at the stables, having to calm down horses while also encouraging young calves to eat their food. His day is unusually stressful and he ponders on the reasoning as he breaks for his lunch. The horses are civil and the barn is quiet as he munches on his pear, carefully sifting through every possibility in his head as to why today feels so...different. 

And then it hits him. Today is Thursday; Master Firbolg comes to help on Thursdays. 

The realization weighs Hernandez’s soul down to the floor. When he had first read the news, he hoped the animals would take time before they recognized his absence. But, it would appear nature arrived before nurture and the animals of the stables and barn were all going through their grieving process. It makes handling the rest of the day a lot simpler; reacting with kindness and care, understanding the emotions rushing through each animal. Hernandez takes note of these things and tries not to let his own grief mingle with his work. Tries not to notice how he still makes room for the Firbolg’s hulking mass in front of the horse stables, or how he finishes the day with a surplus of berries that is not usually there. He decides to take the berries home with him, to store like his student once did. And, if he scatters a few along the treeline in some silent homage to the Firbolg, no one says a word. 

The ripples of the trio’s death begin to spread beyond school grounds. Bloodhawk Barb hears whispers of it from the patrons in her bar, which causes her to check in with Althea Song and the Heroic Oversight Guild. The miners, now employed with proper benefits, sing mournful tunes to honor the bravery and kindness of the three who saved their livelihoods; carrying the news underground. Soon, every inch of land across Nua begins to hear stories of the deaths; Wiggenstaff’s has never seen a death amongst its student body, so that news alone spreads concern much farther. 

Finally, the news reaches the rural farming village Deardra Maplecourt calls home. 

The other members of town are buzzing with the news before anyone decides to find her; a meeting is held to ensure that there are people in place to help her, in case the grief is too much. Meanwhile, Deardra sits in her empty home and tries to ignore the looming sense of foreboding that’s been hanging above her for a few days. Ultimately, it’s her neighbor Martha that delivers the newspaper to Deardra’s door, surprising the elf with her solemn presence as she shakily hands over the paper. 

Though it’s been a week or so, the news still plasters the front page. Deardra stares at it for a long moment, synapses firing in quick succession before a gasp rips from her throat. Immediately, Martha steps to soothe her. 

“Deardra, I--” Martha starts, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder. Deardra notices and recoils back, gripping the newspaper tightly in one hand as the other comes up to shield herself. Martha steps back, going on the defensive. “We’re all here for you, Dee. Whatever you may need, we--” 

“--I’d like some _privacy_ ,” Deardra spits out before realizing how harsh she sounded. “I-If that’s alright with you.” Martha nods fervently as she takes the last step outside the door. 

“Of course, of course,” Martha says (silently grateful she isn’t needed). “Just, whenever you need anything, you ask. We’re...sorry for your...uh, y’know…” Deardra nods, giving the woman a small smile before shutting the door. 

Time passes in slow motion as Deardra makes her way to her chair. Each step surfaces an old memory of her son--birthdays, school pictures, graduation, knight school--as she walks through a house no longer feeling like her own. It’s like she’s stepped into a museum, each piece a tribute to the fallen heroes of old. 

Except, there are no fallen heroes. Just her son. 

And this is not a museum. It’s her house. 

A house Fitzroy will never return to. 

Deardra doesn’t make it to her chair before grief overcomes her, collapsing to the floor as sobs wrack her body. No mother ever expects to live beyond her children, and the grief they feel when they outlast their children is raw and unhinged. Deardra claws at the ground underneath her, practically curling in on herself as she weeps and wails. 

Fitzroy was _her_ boy, her _baby_. The light of her universe. The joy in her heart. 

And now he’s _dead_ , and the light has been snuffed out, leaving her heart cold and confused.

Fitzroy lived through _so much_ in the pursuit of his own happiness. Deardra tried ceaselessly to make his life good, but she knew there was always more that he wanted. Not that he was ever ungrateful; Deardra just knew her son wasn’t destined for provincial farm life. Going to knight school was supposed to help, but when the school wrote home that he’d been expelled for his magic (a phrase that was shocking on its own, given Fitzroy’s ineptitude towards magic his entire life) she worried he would never find it. Fitzroy never came home after leaving Clyde Nite’s; she only knew of his acceptance to Wiggenstaff’s in a brief letter. The last letter she ever received from her son. 

She still has the other letter, too. From his friend. The name comes to her as quickly as the realization that he, too, has passed. That only makes her weep harder, knowing now there’s not a single person in the world she can share in the memory of her boy with. Her grief is unknowable and expansive. She cries for hours on that hardwood floor, well into the night. 

When she finally passes out from exhaustion, she does not dream. Her mind is blissfully empty. 

Preparing her for the emptiness that would come in the morning. And for every morning after that. 

\---

Our story takes us back to the present, to the night at hand. 

Fitzroy charges up the stairs to the apartment-- _their_ apartment, he supposes--as quickly as possible. His fists are still tightly clenched and he grits his teeth, anger coursing through his veins like electricity through a live wire. He tamps it down enough to get inside and around the Firbolg, peacefully snoring on the carpet in the living room. But, once he shuts the door to his bedroom, all bets are off. 

Betrayed does not even _begin_ to describe how Fitzroy feels right now. The fact that Argo had the _audacity_ to even look _sad_ when describing how he so thoroughly violated Fitzroy’s trust is downright _disgusting_ . If not for the fact that they’re sort of stuck in this current predicament together, Fitzroy would’ve blasted the genasi with a powerful enough Thunderwave to blast him back into the bar. He just can’t _believe_ after all this time--all those moments Argo seemed to genuinely reach out and bond with Fitzroy--he was being used. 

Just another target on his back. Another person out to get him. 

Though his blood is boiling, he tries his best to calm down. Better to not go into a rage in the middle of the night than accidentally blowing the power for the entire town in his fury. Fitzroy takes a few deep breaths and finds his center, exhaustion quickly replacing his rage. This is still their first day in town, so needless to say he’s in need of more rest. Quickly, he strips out of his new clothes and throws on a tank top and pair of sleep pants that were left in the dresser, then settles into bed. He wills away bitterness and resentment to clear his mind, vision blurring as he settles into a nice, relaxing trance. 

The sound of a crackling fire jolts Fitzroy into consciousness, revealing the campfire he’s seated in front of. All around him, the woods echoes with its nocturnal inhabitants as he stares into the flames. 

Wait a minute. Wasn’t he just in a _bed_ before this? Was...Was that all a dream? 

**_‘Tis no dream, Fitzroy._ **Fitzroy startles, looking out of the fire to the figure seated across from him. Even seated, they loom above him, form gaseous and flickering like the fire that separates them. Though, instead of the mix of reds, oranges, and yellows that usually constitute a fire; this person is made of moving pearlescence. Their all-white eyes shine in comparison to the faint glow of their body, and the grin they give is just as blinding. Their “hair” wavers in the wind, forming the amorphous shape of a cloud atop their head. Fitzroy gulps as he remembers this person, though their appearance has changed. 

“Ah, Chaos! Fancy seeing _you_ here!” Fitzroy says, awkwardly laughing to hide his unease. Chaos smiles wider, giving Fitzroy a little finger wave. 

**_Hello, Fitzroy._ ** They coo, laughing when Fitzroy stiffens up even more. **_How’s my favorite weapon of mass destruction doing?_ **

“Okay, one, not your weapon.” Fitzroy reiterates. “Two, I’m, uh...pretty good! Pretty, uh... _confused_ as to where the hell I am right now, but that seems to be my... _general_ emotion when it comes to things related to you--your sort of whole... _thing_.” Chaos laughs again, shaking their head amusedly. 

**_Goodness, you are just_ ** **too** **_much fun to talk to! I should’ve started visiting you sooner!_ **They remark. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s all laugh at the confused half-elf who swears he just tranced in a nice, comfortable bed in the middle of a Western town. Ha ha, _very_ funny stuff, I _know_.” Fitzroy retorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Seriously, though, what the fuck happened to my bed. I haven’t slept on a bed in, like...Gods, how long has it been?” 

**_Three weeks!_ ** Chaos answers, surprising Fitzroy. **_Well, technically longer than that, since you were on a mission outside of the school. But it has been three weeks since your daring escape from the demons._ ** Fitzroy’s eyes are wide as he takes that in; three whole weeks? He knew it had definitely been longer than a week because he attempted to keep track of the days early on in their journey, but three? **_Also, you haven’t left your bed either, silly! Look down._ ** Fitzroy looks down, noticing the sleep pants and tank top he put on before bed. **_I’ve simply taken you back to my domain, but your body remains where it lays._ **

“Ah, I see…” Fitzroy mutters. “Guess that whole thing _wasn’t_ just a one-time, only-when-cursed event, then…” 

**_Of course not!_ ** Chaos sing-songs, pressing both of their unnaturally long hands up against their face. **_I was planning on visiting you soon anyway! Calhain just...gave me an opportunity, though he was foolish in his actions and paid the price accordingly! I’ve simply switched up the scenery to make it a bit more...interesting, no? Gotta keep you on your toes, after all~_ **

“Alrighty, going to ignore the absolute _wack_ bullshit you just said about Calhain and focus on the fact that you thought the _woods_ would be a ‘chill hang spot’ to take me to after I just spent _three whole weeks_ traversing through it.” Chaos rolls their eyes (a feat, given they have no visible pupils) and gestures around the two of them. 

**_Don’t you recognize where you are? I know your lightbulb doesn’t shine as bright, but I had assumed you weren’t_ ** **that** **_ignorant to your surroundings._ **Chaos notes, ignoring the offended gasp Fitzroy gives in return. 

“ _Well_ , you don’t need to be _rude_ ,” Fitzroy scoffs as he scans his surroundings. Slowly, the color of the bark and the soft dirt beneath him begin to produce a memory. “This is...the campsite, correct? The campsite we, uh...that we--” 

**_Trashed? Ruined? Made a scene to get the demons off your scent? Correct-in-deedo it is! Good job!_ **Chaos cheers, a dozen pairs of hands appearing around them, all clapping as they float in a circle around Chaos’ head. As Fitzroy focuses on them, he notices the hands all wearing a familiar black glove, blood still dripping out of the wrist where they were severed. 

Calhain’s hand. 

Gross!

 **_I simply thought taking us here would allow you the time to reminisce!_ ** They continue, entirely ignoring the disgusted and unnerved look on Fitzroy’s face. They do, however, wave the hands into non-existence once more. **_You know, let you think back on the time you spent being Fitzroy Maplecourt? Or has Roy become the new normal, and you’ve forgotten all about your past?_ **Fitzroy feels his forehead pulse with a dull anger as he rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve been Roy for only _one day_ , Chaos. A-And it’s not like I’m _not_ Fitzroy, at the end of this.” 

**Are you** **_though?_ ** Chaos implores, tilting their head to the side. **_Because that’s certainly not what the papers say._ **Fitzroy’s eyebrows furrow as he hears that. 

“Papers? What papers?” He asks. Chaos points down at his lap and so he looks, seeing the newspaper that suddenly lays there. On the front page is the header: 

**INVESTIGATION INTO WIGGENSTAFF’S NOW FULLY UNDERWAY, FOLLOWING UNTIMELY AND MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF THREE STUDENTS**

Fitzroy looks underneath the header to see his school picture, along with Argo and the Firbolg’s; the same school picture that’s been on newspapers since that first day. His mind is unable to process the story underneath as his eyes remain glued to himself; the bright-eyed, cocky smile of someone unaware of the nightmares he was about to face. Why does he suddenly feel like he’s aged forty years? Why does his own face not feel familiar? He reaches up and touches the smattering of stubble on his chin, something that the picture does not share. 

**_I honestly don’t know what you were expecting, Fitzroy._ ** Chaos’ voice pulls Fitzroy away from the newspaper, looking back to the deity. Their form has changed again, now looking more like a cutout of a drawing than a tangible being. They are cartoonish and completely flat, but their body moves like they aren’t. **_You succeeded in your task! The world thinks you’re dead! Now you don’t have to worry about demons, or evil headmasters, or_ ** **anything** **_related to your old life!_ **

“Y-Yes, but--” Fitzroy stammers, looking back down at the newspaper. Regrets come barreling through any logical part of his mind, filling him with scenario after scenario of what may have happened since he’s been gone. “I just wanted the demons to go away, I--I didn’t expect _everybody_ to find out!” 

**_How did you_ ** **not** **_, though? Somebody else was bound to discover your remains too. Do you think the demons were just going to_ ** **clean up** **_the mess_ ** **you** **_left behind? Not to burst your bubble, or anything, but demons are not the greatest in the cleanliness department._ ** Chaos says, a look of mild disgust on their face. **_And what about your friends? They would have noticed your absence soon enough, and the outcome would be the same! Wiggenstaff’s has never had a fatality since its creation. You didn’t think that was going to turn a few heads? And papers just_ ** **love** **_a sensational story--three students’ remains found in a field! Oh the shock! The_ ** **horror** **_! The intrigue! The_ ** **chaos** **_~_ **

“Dear Fantasy Jesus I _get it_ .” Fitzroy shouts, just loud enough to silence Chaos’ ramblings. His frustration is rising, slowly building up his anger that is already waiting to flow forth. He tries to keep his temper down, though, in an attempt to keep his magic at bay. He knows what Chaos wants, and he doesn’t want to give in to their temptations of rage. “We made the newspaper, so everyone thinks we’re dead, I _get that_. This was just...a school paper, no? It’s not, uh...How far has this story traveled?” He’s fearing one possibility in particular; a possibility Chaos immediately reads into. The grin that goes across their face goes beyond the confines of their papery form, suddenly making them look like a collage rather than just one image. 

**_That’s a public paper, dear~ Look at the publisher._ ** Fitzroy does so, finding the name of the publishing house--New Nua Times--boldly printed across the center of the top line. **_Not a news article your mother was too keen on hanging on the wall, I’d say._ **The mood shifts immediately, Fitzroy looking back to Chaos with a tense, unreadable expression. The woods around them go absolutely still, the only noise being the gentle crackling of the fire. Chaos’ smile is sharp and knowing. They’ve got him right where they want him. 

“ _What_ ... _did you say_?” Fitzroy whispers. Chaos leans back, shrugging nonchalantly. 

**_I was just saying this wasn’t a news article your mother seemed to want to tack up on the wall with all the other ones._ ** Chaos says, uncharacteristically casual. They pause for a moment, tapping a slender finger to their chin pensively. **_Though, come to think of it, your mother hasn’t seemed to want to do much of_ ** **anything** **_since her neighbor gave her the news. Poor girl spends her whole day either wailing like a loon or staring off into space, unmoving. Very very similar to a corpse, I’d say. And figuring she hasn’t really eaten or slept in the three weeks you’ve been pronounced dead, I’m guessing she’s nearly there alread--_ **

“ **SHUT UP** !” Fitzroy booms, suddenly standing to his full height, fully enraged. His hair sticks out on all ends and his eyes glow, the fire between them rising to a column of fifteen-foot flames that threaten to burn the whole forest down. His fists are clenched at his sides and his veins pulsate with magic. “DON’T YOU _DARE_ SPEAK ABOUT MY MOTHER LIKE THAT, OR I’LL TEAR THIS WHOLE DREAMSCAPE APART WITH YOU STILL INSIDE!” The whole forest trembles with the force of Fitzroy’s words, but Chaos remains unphased. They look up at Fitzroy, offended, and when Fitzroy blinks they’ve disappeared.

 **_You seem to be forgetting your place,_ ** **boy** **_._ ** Fitzroy turns to the column of flame he created and sees that Chaos has taken its place, a towering figure of roaring flame looking down at Fitzroy with disdain. **_I gave you these powers, along with your safety, and I can take it away as quickly as you have received it._ **Fitzroy drops out of his rage, quickly rushing away from Chaos to make a break for the trees. 

As soon as he gets to the edge of the clearing, though, the world shifts and he’s suddenly back to sitting in front of a calm, pleasant flame. Chaos sits across from him looking irritated, the usual grin lost from their face entirely. Their form now represents the jagged rocks one might see at the bottom of a cliff; all danger and sharp lines. Fitzroy makes a move to stand and run away again, but finds he cannot move a muscle. 

**_I am...disappointed in your behavior just then, Fitzroy._ ** Chaos scolds him like a parent might scold their child. **_But...I am willing to be gracious and not turn your body to ash just yet. You’ve yet to fulfill your purpose, and the other agent I’ve installed is rather...annoying. More annoying than you, somehow! That's_ ** **impressive** **_, to say the least._ ** Fitzroy is too petrified to be offended, though he is on some level. Chaos inspects their jagged fingers with a blase face. **_I was hoping this could be a nice chat--a heart-to-heart, maybe some more witty banter--but I see your argument with Argonaut has set you off-kilter. I will return when you are feeling nicer, and I expect an apology when I do so for the_ ** **abhorrent** **_display you just gave. Do not disappoint me, Fitzroy. Remember I have no need for your complacency in my work._ ** They look to Fitzroy finally and smile. **_I will release you now, but I’m curious about one last thing._ **

“Uh...go on?” Fitzroy replies, unsure whether that was rhetorical. Chaos laughs and suddenly the whole word goes dark. But, even in the pitch black, Fitzroy hears right in his ear. 

**_Why alter this form when you could create a new one so easily? Aren’t changelings supposed to be good at that?_ **

Fitzroy wakes up with a gasp back in his bedroom. He pants as his heart rate returns to normal, cautiously looking around the room for any signs of Chaos. When he sees he’s well and truly alone, he stands and goes into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He splashes his face with cold water a few times to get the remaining bits of fear and sweat off his face, then he dries off with a towel; pressing extra hard on his eyes to rid himself of the memory of the newspaper. The last words Chaos said to him taunt him as he lays back down and attempts to rest.

After ten minutes of tossing, he decides he needs a distraction. He sits back up again and looks around the room. He looks at the clock on the wall (2:23 A.M., meaning he barely slept an hour) and sighs. He stands back up and starts rooting through the furniture, hoping to find some sort of distraction that will hold him over until sunrise. In the closet, he finds an old sewing kit, full of all colors of thread as well as many needles stuck through a tomato pushpin. With a grunt, he hefts the heavy kit onto his bed. He looks at the pile of clothes on the floor--his only outfit--and considers his options. He could embroider something, but he’s not sure any of his clothes will do. The vest he picked out had enough design already, and embroidery on flannel isn’t Fitzroy’s style. He _could_ embroider his jeans, but that might draw more attention to him than he wants. Groaning in frustration, Fitzroy quietly leaves his room in hopes of finding some scrap of fabric he could do something to. 

He steps out into the living room and sees the Firbolg snoozing. He _could_ try and embroider something of the Firbolg’s, but then Fitzroy notices that he fell asleep in his only outfit and gives up that idea completely. Carefully, he walks past the sleeping mass and looks around. He spots Argo’s poncho draped over one of the dining chairs and scowls, thoughts of their conversation breaking past the wall of Chaos-related memories. The garment is horrendously plain, a bland contrast to the other brightly decorated ponchos surrounding it. But Argo was...drawn to it, apparently. Fitzroy doesn’t see the appeal, but he’s not his boss anymore. Not that he even would _want_ to be, knowing what he knows now. He quickly looks away from the poncho and continues his search around the apartment for a cloth to embroider. 

Besides the curtains and the tablecloth, the apartment is fairly empty. Fitzroy breathes sharply out his nose as he returns to the living room, snatching the poncho off the chair and stalking back to his room. 

He could do this without it meaning anything. He just needs a distraction from the thoughts churning around his head. This is fine. Fitzroy sits down on his bed and pulls out a spool of dark blue thread, then he spreads the poncho out and mentally plans his pattern. 

If he’s going to embroider it, he might as well make it look _nice_. 

\---

Monday comes quickly, providing a relief to the tension growing within the apartment. The three emerge from their place dressed in their outfits, minus any coats or outer garments (at Jenny’s request) and walk downstairs to the small lobby. Jenny and Lyra stand together, each dressed according to their profession. Jenny is in a flannel and overalls, sleeves rolled all the way up, with a pair of sturdy boots and her hair tied back in a braid. Lyra is in black slacks and a floral-printed dress shirt, a bartender-standard black vest over top. She looks away nervously as Jenny approaches the three with a hug. The trio have found that Jenny is quite a physical person, always reaching out to pull you into a hug or slap you on the back. Though, she has stated that if anyone is uncomfortable to say so, as she “can’t read yer damn minds”. 

“Mornin’ fellas!” Jenny greets after pulling away, standing akimbo with a wide smile. “You boys ready to get to work?” They all nod. “Great! Now,” she slaps her hands together and rubs them, “Roy and Bud, yer gonna follow me over to my workshop. New lumber comes in on Mondays, so I’m gonna need some help moving all that inside. Aaron, yer gonna follow my lovely wife over to the saloon and she’ll show you the ropes of managin’ the place. ‘Course, like I explained in my note yesterday, these positions ain’t set in stone. If one’a ya wants to try yer hand at the saloon, or vice versa, you just let me know. But! For today, this is the setup, capiche?” 

“You got it!” Argo says, flashing a thumbs up. The Firbolg nods from beside him, Fitzroy making a silent motion of agreement as well. Argo ignores the way the Firbolg has to block the two from being next to each other in favor of keeping up his image. All of this tension is lost to the two women, who exit together. The Thundermen follow, splitting off to their respective days. 

\---

Lyra Ross-Parker is very different when it’s just her. That’s the first thing Argo notices. 

Around Jenny, she’s calm and collected and just a bit shy. On her _own_ , she flits from place to place with surprising speed; talking a million miles a minute and stumbling over herself quite a bit. Argo feels like he’s trapped in a whirlpool, following the movement of the changeling with only his head as he struggles to figure out what he’s supposed to do. 

Luckily, she’s only that way in the morning (as she goes on to explain her anxieties about opening alone; usually Jenny does it with her, but on Mondays she needs to move lumber), and in the afternoon they’re able to fall into a rhythm. 

The second thing Argo learns is that the saloon is less of a bar and more of a...gathering place. 

Though not as busy as the night, there is still a decent amount of people inside the saloon throughout the day, all chatting and laughing as they eat their lunch. Argo wonders why no one orders alcohol; that is, until he notices the “NO ALCOHOL UNTIL 7 PM” sign hanging above the liquor. 

“It’s to keep everyone productive,” Lyra explains when Argo points to it, wiping down the counter with surprising grace. “We know everyone’s got jobs to get back to after their lunch break, and if they come back woozy then that looks bad for our business. Plus, who the hell needs whiskey at 1 PM?” 

“Yeah, but why 7?” Argo continues, ringing up someone’s order and handing them their change with a courteous smile. “Isn’t that a little...late? For a bar to start serving? I’d imagine you’d wanna be serving drinks for dinnertime.” Lyra pauses at that, throwing her rag over her shoulder as she looks to the genasi. 

“Oh, that’s because we close at 5 for dinner. We got to eat too, y’know.” 

And that’s the time Argo finds himself at now, absent-mindedly wiping down tables as his mind replays the events of Saturday night over and over and over. He can’t help but wonder if things could’ve gone differently; if he had mentioned it sooner, if he had said it all differently, if he had stopped Fitzroy from running inside. There had to be a point in the night where Fitzroy’s mood turned for the worse, but Argo can’t seem to pinpoint it. He thought everything was going to be fine--that _they_ would be fine--but he had to go and ruin it with his honesty. He should’ve lied, should’ve backtracked, should’ve distracted Fitzroy with a word or a movement or a kiss-- 

“Hellooooo, Nua to Aaron, do you copy?” Lyra’s voice startles Argo out of his head, jumping up and flinging his rag through the air. Lyra snickers as Argo looks, embarrassment quickly warming his face. “You’ve been cleaning this same table for, like, twenty minutes.” 

“Oh, shit!” Argo groans, quickly scrambling to grab his rag and complete his job. “I’m _so_ sorry, boss, I’ll just--” He goes to move past her, but is stopped by a hand pressing against his chest. He turns to Lyra, who looks at him with amusement. 

“One, not your boss. Two, I already finished everything else.” She explains, making the worry lines on Argo’s face get worse. “It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s your first day, you’re allowed to be drained.” 

“It’s not even that, though! I just--” Argo huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s frustrated that he allowed himself to look _this_ stupid on his first day; surely if Fitzroy were here he’d have finished the job and _then_ some-- 

“Aaron!” Lyra flicks Argo on the forehead, getting his attention once more. “Gods, dude, you sure can space out quickly.” Argo blushes even more and rubs the back of his head, the feeling of his short hair still foreign to his own hands. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m usually not like this, I swear, I just--” 

“--Got something on your mind?” Lyra finishes for him, eyebrow quirked knowingly. Argo shyly nods. Lyra hesitates for a moment, finally dropping her hand from Argo’s chest to pull at her vest. “Y-You don’t--if you’re uncomfortable you don’t gotta--I. Okay, words. I know how to use them. If...you don’t want to talk about it...you don’t have to. B-But if you _do_ , I can, uh...listen? I dunno, I’m not great at this shit, Jenny really is the emotional powerhouse of this operation. But, uh--” She cuts herself off, looking stiff and uncomfortable, before quickly heading to the bar without a word. Argo makes his way over, too, after giving Lyra a moment to herself. She’s trying really hard to be as friendly as possible, which Argo appreciates immensely. 

“So, uh, do I just...go now?” Argo says, nodding towards the clock. “Is there, like, a clocking out system I need t’worry about, or…” Lyra waves him off, making Argo turn to leave, but then she realizes what she’s done and stops him with a shout: 

“Uh, stay!” Argo stops, turning back around to look at Lyra. She’s blushing just a little, seemingly understanding the way that sounded. “Uh, not that you’re a dog or anything, that was--Stay because Jenny is gonna bring the other two over here in a bit, anyway, so we can all have dinner.” Argo’s surprised by this, but obeys and walks back to the bar. 

“Oh, I didn’t know we’d all be havin’ dinner together!” He says, deciding to grab his rag and wipe off a few of the drying glasses. Lyra sits on the bartop and shrugs, letting her legs kick freely. 

“Well, it’s not like you guys have _food_ or anything, yet. Though, I think Jenny’s gonna be giving you guys your first paycheck early so you can have that, as well as more than one set of clothes.” She explains before a thought comes to her that makes her giggle fondly. “Don’t tell her I told you this, but I also think Jenny really enjoys the company. She’s always had a soft spot for newbies…” Argo looks at the woman with a knowing smile, watching her gaze dreamily at a point in front of her. 

“You sure it’s all newbies, or is it just _you_ ?” Lyra turns at that, scoffing and chucking her rag at Argo’s head, who laughs and easily dodges. “I’m not _wrong_!” 

“You’re a whore, is what you are!” Lyra jokes, picking up another rag to throw at the genasi. He picks up her tossed rag and unfurls it to act as a little cape, using it to taunt Lyra. The two begin this back-and-forth rag war until Lyra misses and nearly knocks over the row of drying glasses, the game quickly ending without the laughter leaving with it. Argo sits on one side of the counter, playing with a coin he found earlier today, while Lyra sits on the other side. They fall into comfortable silence. 

“So, uhhh...about earlier,” Lyra says after a few minutes, causing Argo to look over at her. She’s not facing him, choosing to focus her eyes on her nails that she’s picking the nail polish off of. “L-Like I said, if you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t _have_ to. But you, uh...you seemed pretty bummed? I think that was the vibe I was picking up on.” Argo looks away, opting to also not face the other during this conversation. Because as much as he’d like to keep quiet, he feels frustrated, and the only other person he could talk to about it is the Firbolg. Which, though the Firbolg tries his hardest to understand, would likely end in Argo being more frustrated than before. But how does he phrase this without giving anything away? 

“You...You ever have something bad happen, and then y’spend the next few days just. Thinkin’ about how you coulda done better? Or, like, more?” Argo starts, passing the coin between each of his fingers. Lyra huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. 

“Aaron, I do that pretty much _every day of my life_ ,” Lyra replies. Argo laughs along with her before continuing. 

“It’s just, like...I messed up pretty badly wit--with someone back home.” The lie is easy enough to craft on-the-fly, and it’s not like this is information the other Thundermen will need to know, so he doesn’t need to be that careful with it. “I accidentally betrayed their trust and they found out, and I just handled it _really badly_ . B-But the only reason they found out is because they _asked_ because it’s not like I _wanted_ to hide information from them, it just got really complicated a-and I didn’t know what else to _do_ so it just--” 

“--Woah there, buddy! Reel it back a little,” Lyra interjects, now finally turned to face him. “Betrayal? Information? W-What’d you _do_?” 

“I-I--” Argo sighs, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “I found something out when I shouldn’t have, and they’re mad that I didn’t explain the situation sooner. _But_ the only reason I _knew_ was because I...care and I wanted them to be safe, but I don’t think they understood that because I was absolute shit at explaining the whole thing…” Argo sags a little after getting the explanation out, feeling a weight pushed off him just by saying it. Lyra appears to see that too because she scoots across the counter to give him a kind pat on the shoulder. Argo smiles at her and pats her back. “Thanks for lettin’ me get that all out.” 

“Of course, dude, I got you.” Lyra replies with a kind smile. “As for any sort of advice I may have? Uh, it sounds like whoever you’re talking about means a lot to you, and being this far from them--both emotionally _and_ physically--is taking a toll on you. But, you have to admit you _did_ kind of fuck up here. They’re entitled to feeling jaded and hurt, and if they never come back around to you I think you...kinda have to accept that? I know that sucks to hear, but…” 

“No, no. I, uh...I already think that’s gonna be the case.” Argo says, his voice distant and sad. Lyra frowns, thinking over something for a moment. 

“When you’re a changeling, you live with a lot of secrets.” Lyra starts, piquing Argo’s attention. “The culture within the changeling community is that you have to constantly _hide_ your true self from the world because the world is still... _pretty_ cruel to changelings. So, in order to exist _beyond_ the changeling village you grew up in-- _if_ you grew up in one, I didn’t--you need to lie about...quite a bit. And you’re told, when you’re young, that if _anyone_ \--and I’m talking _a-ny-one_ \--finds out a _sliver_ of your true identity, you need to run.” 

“Now, I didn’t grow up in that kind of community. Eventually, I moved to a changeling village, which is why I know. Changeling children are often abandoned by their parents in the middle of nowhere, in some twisted attempt to give them a chance at a better life. I was one of those kids; only, instead of lowly potato farmers, I was taken in by...pretty fucking wealthy people. And, tragic backstory aside because it is _too_ early in the week to get into trauma time, I learned in that house how to expertly craft a lie. A-And when I _left_ that home, I just started... _hoarding_ lies. I had a new name for every town I came across, a new life I led until someone knew _too_ much. The only town to break the streak was Dust Field…” Argo hears her trail off, staring lovingly at her wedding ring. He smiles, soft. 

“Because of Jenny?” Argo supposes, to which Lyra nods. 

“Trust me, though, it was _not_ like that, at first. I was a shut book for most of the first two months I lived here. But Jenny was always... _fine_ with that, and she never pushed. Everything was great! ...Until she went digging for a different thing and found out who my parents were, and then it was like every alarm in my brain went off at once, telling me to--to run! Get the fuck out of here, abort! Abort! A-And she was just like _you_ , she found out the information to keep people from coming here to find me--she was keeping me _safe_ ! But my brain didn’t _care_! I was hurt and confused and scared and I nearly left!” Argo doesn’t realize he’s leaning in towards her until he nearly falls off the bar. 

“W-What made you stay…?” He asks, enraptured with the story. Lyra is silent for a moment, then she laughs. 

“Would it surprise you if I said a dust storm?” She replies wryly. “Apparently, it’s the most intense dust storm Dust Field has seen in about fifty years. You literally _could not_ go outside--the dust would suffocate you if the wind strength didn’t knock you into the nearest building. A-And we were living together--don’t ask, long story--so I couldn’t leave. The storm was in for a week, and Jenny just...gave me space. She let me have the kitchen when I needed to eat and didn’t talk to me if I passed her going to the bathroom. She wanted me to be...comfortable. She was sorry! And I just...thought about a lot that week, and I realized I don’t... _need_ to be so closed-off. That people sometimes do questionable shit because they care, and that care is misplaced but it still _means well_. So I forgave her...and now we’re married so, uh, score I guess?” She looks embarrassed for a second, almost like she didn’t realize how much she was going to say, and then looks at Argo. “...Do you get what I’m saying?” 

“I…” He thinks on it. 

Fitzroy is, obviously, very hurt. Equally as obviously, there is more to Fitzroy that Argo _doesn’t_ know, and that seems to be how he likes it. Maybe he _does_ just need time to understand, though Argo quietly doubts if Fitzroy is as forgiving as Lyra. Kind man as he may be, he’s a whole other beast when he’s in danger or being threatened. And _that’s_ the problem: Fitzroy sees Argo as a threat because Argo knows something the rest of the world doesn’t. Without realizing it, a small smile forms on Argo’s face as the realization comes to him. Even though it doesn’t fix the current situation, it helps to put a name to the problem. 

“Yeah, I think I do...Thank you, Lyra.” Lyra nods, looking satisfied with that answer, and the pair fall into silence. 

That is, until Lyra suddenly jumps down and bolts for the kitchen. Argo watches her go in disbelief, confused as to what’s wrong until he hears her shout: 

“I FORGOT TO FEED FERDINAND HOLY FUCK I’M COMING MY SON MOMMY’S SORRY OH MY GO--” 

Argo laughs to himself, hopping off the counter and grabbing a bottle of gin off the liquor rack. Fuck the seven o’clock rule; he’s off-the-clock and he needs a _drink_. 

\---

Fitzroy has a very different day. 

He starts the morning off with a fair amount of manual labor, hauling stacks of lumber from where the supplier drops it off to the shop. He has to quickly shed his flannel, leaving him in just his tank top so he doesn’t sweat through all of his clothes. Then, after taking a quick water break, Jenny leads the two around the shop; pointing out machines and giving basic descriptions on the few jobs they could start doing. Since Fitzroy is a bit more...precise than the Firbolg, he’s given the task of using the tablesaw to cut the planks down to size. The Firbolg then takes those planks and organizes them into their correct pallets. Jenny spends much of the day working on a current project--Town Hall needs new benches. She explains to the two that her current assistant, a young man (about their age) by the name of Wyatt, went out of town for a funeral and that he’ll be back sometime in the coming weeks. 

“Gives you two some time to get used to how things work around here!” She adds cheerily. Fitzroy tries to reciprocate her optimism, but he hasn’t needed to sweat this much during a job since...since… 

He shakes his head and focuses on his work, carefully marking the plank with a black marker before running it across the tablesaw. He’s had too much on his mind lately, and while a task like this would usually help him in getting away from it all, the predicaments he finds himself in only remind himself of the altercation on Saturday. 

He wonders how much Argo knows-- _really_ knows, not just the abridged version he gave his unconscious body all those weeks ago. Gods, three weeks. That time still shocks him, bringing back memories of his conversation with Chaos that night as well. The whole world assumes they’re dead, but has anyone done anything about it? Does anyone care? He’s sure his friends do, and Chaos made it pretty clear that his mother got the news, though he has to stop his work for a moment to breathe through that thought. But are people actually concerned? He’s certain someone would be wanting to find out why; he’s just scared as to _who_ would go through with their suspicions. Paranoia is Fitzroy’s greatest adversary, and he’s battled it for years. There could be demons _anywhere_ , tracking down their scent. Someone could have tipped them off--maybe they caught the pegasi and tortured them into giving up the truth, and if that’s so then they’re wasting too much time here they need to leave they have to go-- 

“ _Woah_!” Jenny’s shout jerks Fitzroy up, saving himself from nearly chopping his finger off with the tablesaw. He pants, looking at Jenny with shock and mild embarrassment. At least she doesn’t look mad--just worried. “Y’gotta be careful, there, Roy! You nearly hacked that thing off!” Fitzroy nods, subtly cradling the hand that nearly met its doom. 

“Sorry, ma’am! It won’t happen again, I promise.” He assures in his casual accent. This is the longest he’s had to go speaking this way since high school, and he’s not sure how okay he is with that yet. Jenny sizes Fitzroy up, eyebrows furrowed. Her green eyes seem to pierce through the veil of Fitzroy, and that makes him even more nervous. “Somethin’s up, I know it. No person would get that lost in their own head if it wasn’t somethin’.” Fuck, why’s this woman so damn perceptive? 

“I-It’s nothin’, Jenny, I swear, I--” Fitzroy tries to look everywhere that isn’t her, glancing over to the Firbolg to see how close he is to hearing this conversation. He looks to be whistling to himself, carefully counting each plank before gathering them and bringing them to a pallet. “I’ll--I won’t let it affect my work, again. Promise.” Jenny follows his line of sight over to the Firbolg, perceiving _once again_ more than what Fitzroy hopes she would, and nods. 

“Walk with me?” Jenny asks in a way that very much means she will not be taking “no” for an answer. So, Fitzroy sighs, pulling his safety glasses off and leaving them at his station to follow Jenny to the front of the shop. 

The shop is divided into two central areas. The area they’re currently in is the actual _shop_ part of the shop--where the wood is brought and handled. It’s separated by two doors, one taking you into the backroom of the storefront, and the other taking you out to the storefront. The storefront area is where smaller items and non-commissions are displayed for day-of purchase. It’s also where people come in to commission a piece. 

Jenny leads Fitzroy the the backroom of the storefront and closes the door behind them, turning on the lights so they’re not standing in darkness. The storefront is closed on Mondays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays; giving Jenny time to work on pieces that need to get done while also co-managing the saloon. The backroom is full of not-sold items, as well as a tiny kitchen where they can make lunch. Jenny walks over to the fridge and pulls out two waters, tossing one to Fitzroy without a word. She uncaps hers and chugs half of it in one go, while Fitzroy takes a healthy drink of his. 

“So,” Jenny says as she caps her bottle, walking back in front of Fitzroy and sitting down on the desk behind her. “What is it? What d’ya need to tell ol’ Jenny? I swear whatever you say stays between the two of us, even if yer admitting to a crime. This,” she gestures to the room around her, “is the safest space to be in the entire world, swear on my life.” Fitzroy doubts that immediately, but he lets that be unsaid. 

“It doesn’t matter, Jenny, honestly--” 

“--You’ve been off in yer own lil’ world the _whole day_ , Roy. _Don’t_ think I haven’t noticed. You randomly get this...really _pissed_ look on yer face before stopping and breathing, and then sometimes you just look really spaced out. It ain’t even just about the fact that y’nearly chopped your own finger off. I’m a pretty perceptive person, Roy, y’ain’t getting much past me.” Jenny barrels through her explanation, making Fitzroy feel uneasy at how _good_ she is at reading him. The only other person who is that perceptive to him is _Argo_ , which is a hard enough thought to have. 

“I-I--” Fitzroy pauses, giving himself time to collect all the things he _could_ say into a lie that is believable enough to get past Jenny’s super-senses. “Let’s just say that, hypothetically, I was dealing with a...particular predicament to do with my privacy. And that...someone whom I--hypothetically--thought I could...trust, suddenly admitted to me something that _violates_ that trust to such a degree that I, hypothetically, would feel deeply offended, hurt, and betrayed. What would you have to say about that? ...Hypothetically speaking, of course.” Okay, so it’s not his _best_ work; but in Fitzroy’s defense he’s...a little tempted to just vent about this. It’s frustrating when the only person you could talk to is a trickster deity who _definitely_ wants you to, like, become a tyrannical king or something. Jenny ponders this for a moment, secretly very amused by the careful wording but wanting to be helpful. 

“... _Well_ , I would ask what the other person did that made you so hurt? Hypothetically.” Jenny replies. Fitzroy huffs as he takes a second to think it over. 

“The hypothetical situation we’re speaking of deals with...my hypothetical tendencies to keep much of my life very...close to the hip, if it will. And for completely justifiable and hypothetical reasons, I have been doing this for a while. Then...this person... _hypothetically_ took it upon themselves to go digging into business that was _not_ hi--I mean _they’re_ business getting into for reasons they _claim_ to be justified.” 

“So you’ve talked about this already?” 

“Hypothetically,” 

“Right, right,” Jenny rolls her eyes playfully. “ _Hypothetically_ , the situation has already been addressed?” Fitzroy nods. “So then what’s the hypothetical issue? Is it-- _oh_ , _I_ get it n--Fantasy Jesus it’s fuckin’ difficult to understand you when you say ‘hypothetically’ every eight seconds.” Fitzroy holds a hand to his mouth in mock offense, making Jenny laugh. “The problem is that they _told_ you _after_ you found out _they_ got this information on you, and you’re jaded by that?” 

“Hypothetically that is the situation, yes,” Fitzroy confirms, crossing his arms over his chest. He then realizes that, during that entire spiel, he’s accidentally slipped into his city-accent. “I, uh, ‘m not lookin’ for you t’say anythin’, really. It was, uh...nice to let that hypothetical situation loose from the ol’ noggin.” He hopes that covers enough of his mistakes. Luckily, Jenny doesn’t seem to notice any difference. 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you somethin’, anyway, ‘cause I’m feeling generous,” Jenny says, patting the spot on the desk next to her. Fitzroy follows her silent direction and sits beside her, surprised at how easily it’s able to hold both of their weight. She’s a damn good carpenter, that much is certain. 

“The week before me and Lyra got married, she suddenly started avoidin’ me. I had no idea why, I just started to notice how she began...skirtin’ around me. In the morning, she’d get up and make breakfast _hours_ before I even woke up, and by the time I _was_ up she was out the door for the day. We had closed both businesses for the week to give us time to prepare everything, so it’s not like she was _workin’_ . To this day, I dunno where’d she go during the day! Then, at night, I’d make dinner and wait for her...and wait….and _wait_. I’d get tired, leave dinner on the stove, and go to bed lonely. Sometime during the night, I’d feel her get in bed, but she’d never touch me. Like...like touchin’ me would do something that she didn’t wanna do.” 

“And it was infuriating! I had no clue what was wrong and no way to fix the problem! I started waking up earlier, she started getting up _even_ earlier! I walked every damn inch of town trying to find her--nothing! Then I started just _staying up_ , determined to wait her out, but even that didn’t work! _Finally_ , the second-to-last night before our wedding, I’m sittin’ in bed--absolutely miserable, mind you, ‘cause my brain had decided to interpret this as her not loving me--and the door slams open and I see her just... _crying_ …” Her stare remains locked on her ring, twisting it around her finger as she frowns at the memory. Fitzroy pats her shoulder assuringly. 

“W-What happened?” He asks. Jenny smiles sadly, wiping a tear from her eye. 

“She got _super_ cold feet. She ran in and collapsed into my arms _sobbing_ about how sorry she was for avoiding me all week, but she was scared that if we got married I’d find some... _flaw_ or somethin’ that’d make me not love her anymore. Her home life was _shit_ \--don’t help none that changelings are so badly mistreated, so she just _assumed_ I’d hate her eventually.” Fitzroy feels a chill go up his spine and pushes the thoughts of Chaos away. “She wanted to avoid me for as long as possible because she thought if she waited long enough then I’d call the whole thing off. A-And that _broke_ me, man. We cried in each other’s arms for hours that night. I was so worried she didn’t love me, and she was so worried _I_ didn’t love _her_ ! But we didn’t...because we didn’t _communicate_ both of our sides, there was no resolution until we talked it out.”

“Do y’see what I’m tryin’ to say? Yer not gonna get any peace if you don’t share how you feel, too. I know they already gave their side, but you never gave yours. If they don’t know how you feel and _why_ , then how are they supposed to really make it up to you? I’m not sayin’ you have to _forgive_ them or anything--if that’s how you feel then that’s perfectly understandable. But...just to settle the tension in that apartment, y’should probably say _something_.” Jenny reaches up and pats the hand still on her shoulder, a knowing smile on her face. Fitzroy nods until he understands what she just said, immediately clamming up and standing. 

“Yeah, well, I suppose we should see how Bud is doing with those planks, right?” He says very quickly, turning around to walk to the door. Behind him, Jenny laughs. 

He walks back to his station, thinking over what she said. 

Jenny means well, but she’s naive. This is not some cheesy romance novel; this is real humans and real blood on the floor. 

Fitzroy isn’t ready to trust again, and he doesn’t know when that’s going to change. 

\---

The rest of the week passes in a flash. Work days lead to casual nights at the bar or in the apartment. Bonds are forming and seeds are planting into the humble town of Dust Field for the Thundermen. So, when Friday rolls around, so does the prospect of a good weekend--the first good weekend in quite some time. 

Fitzroy is crocheting a blanket on the couch while the Firbolg naps on the carpet when Argo steps out of his room, tossing a bag of coins into the air as he whistles cheerily. Fitzroy subtly glances up and notices Argo’s only wearing his tank top with his jeans and boots. He scoffs audibly and returns to his work. 

“You’re really going out in _that_?” Fitzroy remarks distastefully, pausing Argo’s whistling. He looks at the half-elf and rolls his eyes, pocketing his bag into his jeans. 

“What’re you? My _Ma_?” Argo bites back. Fitzroy shoots a glare at Argo, who responds by flipping him off. “I’m goin’ to look at new ink for my arm, why would I wear a shirt if I just have to roll the sleeves up anyway?” Fitzroy furrows his brows in confusion. 

“There’s a tattoo parlor here?” He asks as Argo moves to leave. The general commotion wakes the Firbolg, who slowly comes to life as Fitzroy sits fully up on the couch. 

“Yep! And I’m goin’, so see ya!” Argo calls out as he goes to the door. On impulse, Fitzroy jumps off the couch, and he isn’t sure why he calls out: 

“Wait!” 

But it does, in fact, make Argo wait and slowly turn around to look at Fitzroy strangely. Fitzroy stands there, halfway between the couch and the door, and awkwardly fumbles with what he should say. It’s not--Look, it’s not like he wants to _hang out_ with Argo. But...But tattoos are _interesting_ , and Fitzroy’s never been inside a parlor before. 

“Y-You’re going...alone?” He finally manages, looking at the spot just above Argo’s head to avoid his knowing eyes. Argo stares back at him, drinking in every last bit of his uncomfortable posture, before slowly nodding. 

“Yes…..unless you’d like to come with?” Argo offers cautiously. Fitzroy’s body responds before his brain as he nods fervently; the sight rather adorable, in Argo’s secret opinion. Then, Fitzroy seems to realize his mistake and coughs into his hand. 

“I-I mean, it could be a fun group activity! Even if the rest of us...don’t get anything! Right, Master Firbolg?” Fitzroy says, loud enough to wake the Firbolg up the rest of the way as Fitzroy turns to face him. He blinks at the pair by the door, slowly processing the situation in front of him. 

“We...are going out?” 

“Yes!” Fitzroy and Argo say at the same time, looking at each other and then immediately looking away. The Firbolg blinks again. 

“...O-kay doe-kay.” 

\---

The Silver Spurs Tattoo & Piercing Parlor is run by twin tieflings, Nikolai and Zephyr. Their work goes beyond the small Western town their shop presides in, drawing in ink-heads and fellow artists from across Nua to their shop. Lyra mentioned the parlor one day during work, when they both walked in to pick up their usual lunches. Argo was mesmerized by the ink across both siblings’ bodies, along with the glimmers of silver piercings across various points of their face. Secretly, he’s always wanted a piercing, but piercing genasi ears can be dangerous since they’re so thin. He chatted up the twins while they waited for their food, managing to get himself a spot to come in and look at any ink he’d want to get added to his sleeve. 

Stepping into the shop is like entering a different town entirely. Red velvet flooring with dark oak walls, dozens of frames displaying hundreds of designs to choose from. Soft jazz fills the air as Nikolai peers up from their magazine, smiling when they see Argo walk in. 

“Hey, Aaron!” Nikolai greets. Though their style puts them in the decidedly “scary but hot” category, they’re incredibly sweet and funny. They move from behind the front counter to dap Argo up, looking at Fitzroy and the Firbolg when they step back. “Oh, these are the roommates you were talking about!” 

“Yeah!” Argo says, stepping aside to allow Fitzroy and the Firbolg to meet the tiefling. “Roy and Bud, this is Nikolai! Nikolai, Roy and Bud!” The three exchange handshakes and greetings as Zephyr walks out from the back. His aesthetic almost exactly matches his personality; cold, but not unkind, and soft-spoken. He smiles at Argo and waves. Argo waves cheerily in return. 

“Okay, so you wanna check out the wall? Or would you rather us check out what you got already on the arm and see what we can add from there?” Nikolai says, getting Argo’s attention.

“I think I’d like to build from my sleeve, already, if that’s alright?” 

“Yeah! Just take a seat on that chair over there,” Nikolai points behind Argo to one of the cushy leather seats, “and I’ll take a looksy! Your friends can join you over here, if they want.” They look to the two, who nod earnestly. Argo sits on the chair just as Nikolai pulls up beside him on their stool. They grab his right arm and inspect the artistry, Fitzroy peering over their shoulder. 

If Fitzroy had to be tied to a chair and beaten, he’d admit that Argo’s tattoos are...kind of hot. 

And if he was beaten even further, he’d say they were _really_ hot and he struggles every day with not ogling him when he wears short sleeves. 

Two chains wrap around the upper arm, closest to the shoulder, followed by what Fitzroy could only describe as a cartographical compass with some loose water designs surrounding it. At each of the compass’ points is a word; North is Blood, South is Bone, West is Rain, and East is Stone. Under that are some lines and small symbols, likely representing the rest of the map symbolism. From beneath that, extending onto his forearm are a number of roses. The coloring is a monochromatic blue, contrasting with his skin in a way that almost makes them look natural. He started the sleeve a few weeks into the first semester, coming home and excitedly prodding at the plastic covering the compass. That week was a hard one for Fitzroy’s self-control, willing himself to look at anywhere but the genasi, who kept wearing tank tops and short-sleeved shirts to let his tattoo “breathe”. 

Looking at them now, Fitzroy wonders if the tattoos are too much of a give-away. He supposes that, since the newspaper didn’t show his arms, they’re safe from strangers recognizing them. But, if anyone from the school were to make their way here, then… 

“Say, you guys do piercings too, right?” Argo asks, not noticing the way Fitzroy jostles as he returns to the moment. Nikolai nods. 

“Why, you want one?” Nikolai jests as they put Argo’s arm back on the armrest, pulling out a sketchbook and opening to a fresh page. Argo laughs and nervously rubs the back of his neck. 

“Well, I’ve always thought a septum ring would look nice on me, but…” He looks over to Fitzroy and the Firbolg. “What do you guys think? Would I look good with a septum ring?” 

The imagery short-circuits Fitzroy’s brain the second the word is uttered. Meanwhile, the Firbolg taps his finger to his lip. 

“Which...is septum?” The Firbolg asks. Nikolai spins around their stool and points to the piercing through their nose. “Ah...that is, like the bull? You wish this...Aaron? To look like bull?” Nikolai and Argo both burst into laughter, making the Firbolg stare at them in confusion. 

“They’re not laughing at you, big guy,” Fitzroy reassures, patting him on the arm. The Firbolg nods, a small smile coming to his face as he lets out a low, rumbling laugh with the other two. 

“Ah, is funny to look like bull! Yes, I un-der-stand the amusement!” The Firbolg says, his voice getting increasingly louder. Fitzroy shakes his head and lets out a quiet laugh of his own. Once Argo has calmed down, he looks back at Fitzroy with a smirk. 

“Well?” 

“Well what?” Fitzroy responds, confused. 

“You never said what you’d think of me with a septum ring.” Argo clarifies, “Would it work? Yes or no?” Fitzroy feels put on the spot as Nikolai looks at him out of the corner of their eye. Suddenly it’s gotten remarkably hotter in the room, and Fitzroy isn’t sure why the AC has decided to break now as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. There are too many ways he could make a fool of himself at this moment, and he isn’t sure what landmines are live as he approaches the field. 

“I-I think...well, what I think is whatever you wanna do is the right decision.” Fitzroy says vaguely, earning himself a playful eyeroll from Argo. 

“Y’know what? Can we do a septum piercing right now?” Argo says suddenly, looking at Nikolai. “I’ve decided to be impulsive.” Nikolai looks up from their sketch and grins gleefully, clapping their hands together. 

“Ooo impulse decisions! Love it,” They say, turning their stool towards the back of the shop. “Zephyr!! Grab the septum rings and the equipment!!” They turn back to Argo. “Usually we make people go to the back to get piercings done, but you’re the only one in here right now, so I don’t care. Luckily, the septum is one of the easiest piercings to give!” 

“You’re going to do this _now_?” Fitzroy asks incredulously, watching Zephyr wheel out this cart of medical supplies, piercing equipment, and jewelry. 

“Yeah, why not?” Argo says with a shrug. “You only live once, right?” 

“ _That’s_ the spirit!” Nikolai cheers. Zephyr hands Argo the box of septum rings and lets him pick out the one he’ll be wearing while it heals. He chooses a blue-silver ring that Zephyr then cleans thoroughly, along with Argo’s nose and the piercing needle. Fitzroy feels his stomach drop at the sight of the needle; he’s never felt comfortable around them, unless they’re sewing-related. That’s the main reason he’s never gotten a piercing done, opting for clip-ons that avoid the process of having something shoved _through_ his ear meat. 

“Okay, on three I’m doing it,” Zephyr says, holding Argo’s face steady. Argo gives him a thumbs up. “One...two…” He pierces before three, quickly jabbing the needle through and leaving it there as he grabs the ring. Fitzroy watches, in awe, as Argo does so much as _blink_ while a needle sits shoved through his nose, the needle being quickly replaced with the ring that he lets Argo secure onto his nose with the ball piece. 

Now, if Fitzroy were tied to a chair, beaten nearly to death, and on the edge of a _cliff_ , he would admit that Argo is _ridiculously_ attractive with the piercing. 

Zephyr hands Argo a mirror without a word, wheeling the cart back to its home as the genasi ogles his reflection. Nikolai looks delighted the entire time, wrapping up their sketch and cheering at Argo’s first piercing. 

“ _Fuck_ , I look _great_!” Argo shouts, turning his head every which way to catch the metal in the light. “This is such a cool fucking thing! Look, F--Roy!” Argo points at his nose, his eyes twinkling with mirth and grin wide and toothy. Fitzroy blushes, nodding his head in lieu of a response, which seems to pass by Argo with no issue. The Firbolg gives him a big thumbs-up. “Shit, do you guys do nipple piercings too!?” 

_Okay_.

“Dear Fantasy H. _Christ_ , can we _not_ do two piercings in one night!?” Fitzroy pleads, slapping a hand over his eyes as his entire face burns. Argo hoots and hollers from his chair, a noise that Fitzroy is starting to find comfort in again. Seeing Argo so happy makes him feel...happy, even if he doesn’t want to think about why. He looks at the genasi and his stomach stirs in a way it did weeks ago, in the woods. Still foreign and strange, but slowly becoming something he could see himself getting used to. 

Maybe Jenny was right. Maybe communication is the answer. 

“What, did yer Mommy not let you look at the shirtless guys in the summer?” Argo teases. 

That’s what it’s supposed to be; a tease. 

Only it sets three things off in Fitzroy’s mind all at once. 

One, it reminds Fitzroy of what Argo knows of his past; the life he lived with his mother. 

Two, it reminds Fitzroy of his mother. 

Three, it reminds Fitzroy that his mother thinks he’s dead. 

His neck pulses with anger as he locks his jaw, suddenly standing. The atmosphere in the room shifts in an instant, dropping the temperature several degrees as Fitzroy glares down at Argo. The genasi slowly begins to realize his mistake as Fitzroy turns heel and storms out of the parlor, his desperate plea for him to stop lost on the half-elf’s ears as he leaves. 

He almost let his guard down. He _won’t_ do it again. 

\---

Argo and the Firbolg come back two hours after Fitzroy. After apologizing to the owners’, Nikolai went to work refining the design and then tattooing the linework onto Argo’s arm. He has plastic wrapped around it, now, with instructions to come back in a few weeks for coloring. The pair enter the apartment expecting to see a tornado of things strewn about in response to Fitzroy’s rage. 

What they don’t expect to see is Fitzroy crocheting a full-sized blanket with a scowl. 

There is absolute silence as Argo shuts the door, the tension suffocating. Fitzroy doesn’t even look up from his blanket upon their entry. Argo walks quietly over to the dining room table and slowly begins gathering his things from work. The Firbolg looks at Fitzroy and thinks of something. 

“I think...I am going to use shower,” The Firbolg says, to the surprise of both remaining Thundermen. 

“R-Really?” Argo responds, the Firbolg nodding. 

“I...do not like feeling of dust on...fur. Would like to clean it off.” At that, he turns to the hallway and goes into Argo’s room, leaving the other two in the living area. 

A pin could drop in the silence that follows. Water could boil in the tension created. 

“Listen, Fitz--” As soon as he speaks, Fitzroy stands, blanket falling to the ground as he glares back. Argo stares, heart aching and mind echoing Lyra’s advice. He scrambles to find something to say, grabbing his poncho for something to fiddle with. Fitzroy tracks his movements, his eyes widening, as Argo notices the difference. 

A spectrum of blue waves are embroidered onto the bottom of the poncho, along with a few complimentary designs. 

Argo looks back up to Fitzroy, heart in his throat. “Did you--” 

“ _Don’t_ look into it.” Fitzroy spits back, crushing any hope Argo had under the weight of his tone. “I just needed something to do.” He turns and storms into his room, abandoning his needlework. Argo feels gripped with a familiar sadness as he stares at the closed door--a wall pushing them even farther apart. 

Then, he looks down at the poncho, and somehow--despite everything--smiles. He shouldn’t be as hopeful as he is, but this...means something. 

He needs time, and Argo is determined to give it to him, whether he likes it or not. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzroy learns about a lot of things. Woodworking, rattlesnakes, meeting new people. 
> 
> And, of course, his friend's plan to avenge his dead mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is so much redbull coursing through my veins right now i feel like i've entered another dimension. is this what it feels like to be a coffee drinker?? i'll never know. anyways, hello and salutations, once again i apologize for the wait but hey--at least it's out here. 
> 
> i left this at a pretty good moment, and i'm honestly surprised with how proud i am with what i built up this chapter. there's a lot of subtle gears turning, as well as some pretty obvious ones! 
> 
> onto my fanart shoutouts!! remember, if you'd like to make some swag art and have me see it/shout you out, make sure to tag me @fitzroythecreator
> 
> general shoutout to matt [@accesscodex](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/) for continually drawing random lil argo's now and then. i absolutely adore you, you fucking ape <3 
> 
> also shoutout to keira @tryagainart for their [little doodles of the last chapter](https://tryagainart.tumblr.com/post/624555904043565057/doodle-dump-last-page-is-based-off-of)!! you are a sweet baby monky and i care you so dearly
> 
> ALSO shoutout to sam @bumblebeesnees for her [little argo portrait](https://bumblebeesnees.tumblr.com/post/624581043132022784/taz-grad-cowboy-au-made-my-monky-brain-go-ooooo)!! absolutely sublime!!! you whore!!! 
> 
> with that all being said, i hope you enjoy!! make sure to comment if you did, you little monkeys <3

Fitzroy comes out of his trance the next morning with a pounding migraine. 

Turns out, going to bed angry _isn’t_ healthy or suitable for proper rest. Not to mention the lingering paranoia that comes at night, expecting Chaos to be just out of the corner of his eye. All in all, not an optimal beauty rest environment. 

He groans, clutching at his head as his other hand blindly fumbles for the glass of water he left on his nightstand. He downs the glass in one go, panting as he sets it back down and fully sits up in bed. He then rubs circles into his temples, attempting to dislodge the migraine so he can actually function as a member of society. After a few minutes of breathing and rubbing, the migraine ebbs away enough for Fitzroy to glance at the clock. He starts when he sees the time--11:47 A.M.--but then immediately relaxes when he realizes it’s a Saturday. With that settled, he sits and thinks on what he can do for today. 

His immediate thought is to sit in the living room and crochet, but he’s already completed his blanket after last night’s...fiasco. He could maybe go for a run? That’s always an option, but then what does he do afterwards? Plus, he hasn’t got much in terms of workout clothes just yet; Jenny gave them their checks early, but Fitzroy already spent most of it on a more Western wardrobe, food, and yarn. Fitzroy groans, pressing his face into his hands as he tries to think of something to do. 

“It would be so much _easier_ if we were actually surrounded by people we know,” he mutters to himself, repeatedly thunking his head into his open palms. But that thought only gives way to more thoughts of that manner--thoughts of his friends, how they’re doing, if they miss them, what’s happening to the school now that no one knows a demon runs it, if the fake Heironymous is looking for them, and (if so) how the _hell_ are they going to get out of--

“Okay! No more thinking!” Fitzroy jerks his head up, shaking the intrusive thoughts away. “I _obviously_ can’t just sit here all day because that... _that_ will happen. I just need...I n-need _somebody_ to hang out with.” 

There is an easy solution to this problem, but Fitzroy is stubborn. And stubbornness means _not_ hanging out with the guy who betrayed his trust just because he's bored. The Firbolg would likely be up to hanging out, but if they alienated Argo then he’d be mopey for the next week. Frustration is starting to pool in his head, making the low throb of his migraine slowly increase in intensity. Without even really thinking of it, he summons Snippers, who crawls into his open palm with a welcoming chitter. The sensation startles Fitzroy, who nearly flings the crab across the room before realizing what it was. 

“Oh, Snippers! It’s good to see your crustaceous face!” Fitzroy says, bringing the crab closer to his face so Snippers could give him a light pinch-greeting. “Though, I do suppose I could have summoned you _sooner_ , I just, uh...got preoccupied.” Snippers gurgles knowingly, not looking disappointed or angry at Fitzroy in the slightest. Though, it’s kind of hard to read facial expressions on a crab. 

Fitzroy puts Snippers onto the bed and lets him scuttle around the new room, gurgling and chittering as they explore. A small smile makes its way onto Fitzroy’s face as he watches the spectral crustacean; as much as he would never let Festo know they were right, having Snippers around certainly helps him feel more comfortable. He worried, after that first encounter with Chaos, that Snippers had been an extension of the deity the entire time; but seeing the crab interact with the world and with him, he feels assured that Snippers is more attuned to _Fitzroy_ rather than Chaos’ influence. 

“Though, now that I’m thinking about it...can a crab even _survive_ in a desert like this? Spectral or otherwise, at least the air was humid at school…” Fitzroy wonders aloud, Snippers responding with an unsure gurgle. “Not only that, walking around with a pet crab _could_ raise suspicions…” Snippers scuttles up onto the bed, giving his best impression of a puppy dog face. Fitzroy flusters, quickly waving his hands. “I-I’m not saying I don’t want you around! I-I just--you need a disguise! Just like the rest of us!” The crab stares back, thinking it over, before tapping the top of himself with a claw. Fitzroy brings a hand up to his chin, humming thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think a cowboy hat would do the trick…” Snippers gurgles disappointingly and Fitzroy makes a mental note to find a tiny cowboy hat for him anyway. 

“You need something believable...Something that could make you really _look_ like you belong…” Fitzroy thinks for an unfortunate amount of time before the obvious hits him, causing him to sit up and snap his fingers. “Hey, wait a minute! You’re a familiar! I can just _make_ you look different!” Snippers does an excited crab dance and scuttles into Fitzroy’s hand, who lifts him up to eye-level. “I think I have _just_ the thing to turn you into, my sweet crab son.” Fitzroy concentrates hard on Snippers, clenching his eyes shut and focusing on the animal he has in mind. The air in the room shifts and when Fitzroy opens them again, a rattlesnake sits delightfully in his palm. 

“There!” Fitzroy cheers, Snippers rattling his new tail with excitement. “Threatening, yet suitable for the environment! A perfect disguise!” Snippers slithers his way up Fitzroy’s arm, settling his body along Fitzroy’s shoulders. “Though, every good disguise has to come with a good name. So, I now pronounce you...Slithers! Slithers the Snake! How does that feel on the tongue, sweet boy?” Snippers--now Slithers--nods his head, causing Fitzroy to smile. “Ah, good! I thought I’d run out of name juice after coming up with aliases for the whole team.” 

A knock at the door cuts the moment short, Fitzroy jolting and banishing Slithers away in a poof of smoke. 

“Fitzroy…?” The low baritone of the Firbolg’s voice calms Fitzroy’s fried nerves, “You are awake now, yes?” 

“Yes, Firby, I’m awake now,” Fitzroy calls, standing up and stretching his back. The Firbolg makes an affirmative noise from the other side of the door. 

“...Good. Argo has made break-fast for us. You will...come eat with us, yes?” 

“Oh, uh,” Fitzroy’s stomach makes a loud noise in response, causing the barbarian fluster. “Y-Yes, I’ll be out in a moment.” Though he can’t see, he knows the Firbolg heard the unsavory noise and is smiling to himself. Fitzroy quickly changes into some casual clothes--tank top with a flannel over top, unbuttoned, and blue jeans. He doesn’t bother with his hair yet, opting for his morning shower after he satiates his dark hunger. 

Stepping out of his room and down the hallway to the main room, Fitzroy can see the Firbolg quietly munching on some berries as Argo sets a plate in front of an empty seat. The sunlight peeking in through the kitchen window glints off Argo’s piercing, drawing attention to the genasi’s face. Argo looks up at the noise and locks eyes with Fitzroy, freezing halfway through his movement. 

The moment is...strange. 

Something deep inside Fitzroy swells at the sight of Argo; something that he’s felt a few times before but never knew what it was. Argo’s golden eyes glint with something equally as unknown, and Fitzroy notices a light purplish blush spread across his face. He’s wearing the same tank top from the night before, showing off toned muscles and a sleeve of ink. The wrapping on his forearm disrupts the elegant artistry on Argo’s arm, and Fitzroy is suddenly very confused why he’s paying so much attention to Argo’s appearance. 

Just as soon as the moment happens, it ends with Argo looking away and walking back to the kitchen. Fitzroy shakes the strange feeling off of him, reminding himself that Argo should not be trusted. The feeling is replaced with residual anger as he sits down in front of the plate Argo just set out. 

“Uh, g’mornin’, Fitz!” Argo calls from the kitchen. “I, uh, don’t exactly know how t’make those fancy lad crepes you’d get at school, but I got a mean pancake recipe instead!” Fitzroy admires the plate of food in front of him as Argo speaks. Sure, it isn’t crepes, but Argo wasn’t kidding when he mentioned those pancakes. Three perfectly golden, fluffy pancakes are stacked right in front of him, surrounded by a few slices of bacon, two sausage links, and a little pile of fluffy, yellow scrambled eggs. There’s also a tiny plate of strawberries and sliced bananas next to the bigger plate, and an empty glass flanks the plate on the other side. 

“I didn’t dress yer ‘cakes at all ‘cause I don’t know what ya like on ‘em. Also, there’s juice on the table if you want.” Argo continues, coming back to the table with a plate of his own. Three pancakes stack his plate, along with a _lot_ of sliced limes and lemons. Fitzroy ignores the culinary crisis that is Argo’s plate and reaches to grab the syrup, thoroughly dousing his pancakes in it before grabbing the pitcher of orange juice and pouring himself a glass. 

“This is fine, thank you, Argo,” Is all Fitzroy says in reply, cutting his pancakes into bite-sized bits and then adding more syrup after the pieces are moved from a stack to a small pile. Argo snorts quietly at the ferocity of the half-elf’s sweet tooth, popping a lemon slice into his mouth as he cuts his own pancakes. The Firbolg quietly eats his mound of berries, opting out of the other breakfast items entirely. Fitzroy takes his first bite and is immediately floored. The pancakes are buttery and pillowy-soft, practically melting in his mouth. 

“Wow, Argo, these are--you weren’t kidding about the pancakes,” Fitzroy notes. Argo smiles, preening himself on the compliment. 

“Well, you can thank my Ma for that one! She used to make these for the whooooole crew on Saturdays!” Argo replies. “I used t’never wanna eat ‘em, ‘cause I was worried about scurvy. Still am, but Ma helped me branch out of my comfort foods and now they’re the only breakfast food I _wanna_ eat!” 

“Why did you never get them at school, then?” Fitzroy asks, scooping up a forkful of eggs. 

“They weren’t my Ma’s! ‘M not gonna ruin pancakes for me with some dumb chef’s interpretation when I could make my Ma’s ‘cakes!” Argo explains like it was obvious. Fitzroy wants to question that further, but he can’t deny the logic when the pancakes are _this_ good. 

The trio eat in relative silence after that, though it is not the tense silence that usually pervades whenever Argo and Fitzroy are in a room together. Fitzroy’s frustration goes away as he’s eating, but that weird feeling doesn’t come back. When they’re just about finished, Fitzroy remembers something. 

“Oh, right! I should probably let you two know this before you see him slithering around here, but I gave Snippers a new disguise to match our...current predicament.” Fitzroy prefaces before summoning Slithers, the snake appearing in a coil atop Fitzroy’s palm. Argo and the Firbolg both look taken aback, watching as Slithers unfurls himself and looks at Fitzroy, tongue darting out. Fitzroy smiles at his reptilian friend, grabbing a strawberry and offering it to Slithers. Slithers darts its tongue out at the fruit a couple times before swallowing it whole. The three watch as the vague outline of a strawberry slides down Slithers’ body. 

“...I did not think snakes liked the, uhhh...strawberries.” The Firbolg notes, not nearly as mortified as the other two. 

“M-Me neither! Though I, uh--I suppose spectral beings don’t necessarily _need_ food.” Fitzroy says, nervously chuckling as Slithers makes his way down to the table. The three of them look away as Slithers inhales another strawberry. Fitzroy quietly wonders if maybe a lizard would be a more visually appealing form. 

“So, anyway! Uh, you guys have any...plans for today?” Argo says, steering the conversation away from the graphic eating display in front of them. The Firbolg nods slowly. 

“I will, uh...be visiting garden,” he states, “Jenny said...is nice place. And I’m, uh, missing my home en-vi-ron-ment.” The other two nod, well-aware of the Firbolg’s deep connection to the forest and how that’s been severed due to their current situation. The Firbolg suddenly stands and makes his way towards the door, confusing the other Thundermen. 

“Uh, buddy…? Where are you going?” Fitzroy calls out. The Firbolg turns around at the door, head tilted quizzically. 

“I...lit-er-all-y just said where I was going. Did you...forget? Are our mem-or-ies already slipping because of the _dis-tance between us and the school_ \--” The Firbolg begins to spiral, clutching at his head as the other two quickly shake their heads and backpedal. 

“N-No! We--We just thought y’meant you were goin’ later in the day!” Argo corrects, “But you can go now if y’wanna!” This calms the Firbolg, who removes his hands from his head and nods thoughtfully. The other two breathe a sigh of relief as the Firbolg waves and exits the apartment, leaving Argo and Fitzroy alone.

Silence falls, now more tense than before. It’s almost as if the Firbolg’s presence works as an emotional buffer; so, with him gone, the tension and unspoken feelings are able to make themselves more known to the pair. Fitzroy picks at his nearly-empty plate while Argo chews idly on a lemon slice. 

“...So--” Argo starts, immediately cut off by the scrape of Fitzroy’s chair against the floor. 

“I’m going to shower now; if you collect the plates I can clean my share after I am finished.” Fitzroy states, voice clipped and hard as he turns heels and walks briskly back to his room. Argo hears the door shut--not slam; an improvement--and lets the breath he was holding out. Though the harshness still pains him, he’s sticking to Lyra’s advice. If Fitzroy wants to be left alone to brood, then there’s nothing Argo can do about it. All he can do is be ready and available when Fitzroy wants to talk. 

_If_ Fitzroy wants to talk. 

He looks down at Slithers, having cleaned off the small plate of its remaining berries, and smiles. He grabs a lime slice off his plate and slowly sticks his hand out towards Slithers. 

“Hey there, buddy, y’wanna--” The snake glares at him, tail up in the air and rattling threateningly. Argo jumps, dropping the lime slice on the table as he takes a big step back. Slithers stares him down for another moment before slithering off the table and back towards Fitzroy’s room. Argo sighs, relieved, and moves to collect the dishes from the table. 

Makes sense that Fitzroy’s snake wouldn’t be a big fan of him, too. 

\---

The Firbolg is worried. 

Firbolgs, as a whole, usually do not worry. Their focus does not allow for such trivial thoughts; they work day-to-day, not caring about what may happen months ahead. That doesn’t make them dumb--on the contrary, by not consistently worrying about what-ifs and worst case scenarios, Firbolgs are able to work in harmony with others and with nature. If their home burns down, so be it. If winter comes and their food is low, so be it. They adapt and work to overcome their problems. 

The Firbolg has always been different, in this sense, because he _does_ worry. He worried about his family, he worried about himself. When he started getting books to learn about the world beyond him, he worried about what the others may think. And when his father caught him, book in hand and private stash of food hidden for the winter ahead, he worried if he made the right decision in breaking the rules. 

Now, the Firbolg worries about his clan. _His_ clan, the clan he’s found in his roommates. Something has disrupted the harmony between the two, leaving malice and bitterness in its wake. The Firbolg has noticed the looks and has heard the words hissed at each other. He just doesn’t know _why_ , and so he worries. A clan does not thrive if there is dissent amongst its members; if they’re going to survive this situation they’ve found themselves in, they need to not be at each other's throats the whole time. The Firbolg has tried to give them opportunities to work it out, doing so much as _shower_ last night just so they could say something. 

But, just before Firbolg could turn on the water, he heard the door to Fitzroy’s room slam shut and knew his plan had failed. He worries there will be no end in sight to their arguments--that whatever thing settled between the two will eventually tear them all apart. Then the Firbolg goes back to square one: Alone, lost, afraid, and _worried_. 

He will not lose his clan. Not this time. 

So, he’s decided to seek some outside help. 

His feet carry him in the direction Jenny specified, past the few houses that line the street of the residential side of Dust Field and towards a large expanse of green and vegetation. Jenny explained that the town sees very little exports, other than the canned stuff that comes in for the General Store, so the citizens of Dust Field have been banding together for years to cultivate their own produce. As he gets closer, he notices the gardens that surround a large greenhouse--the interior of that greenhouse containing a variety of vegetables and fruits. There are also a few fruit trees in the garden area--most bare, but some bursting forth with seasonal fruits. 

Residents are peppered throughout the garden, weeding, planting, tilling soil, and picking ripe fruits and vegetables to place into baskets. Others are seated on benches that are on the outer edge of the green, chatting with loved ones or painting idyllic scenes of the garden. The Firbolg spots Jenny tending to a patch of pink tulips, dressed in overalls and a rolled-up flannel with a large straw sunhat atop her head. He walks towards her, mindful of the plants as he makes his way through the grass and green. 

As soon as his feet touch the soft soil, he feels relief; like a deep thirst has been quenched. His shadow looms over Jenny, alerting her to his presence as she turns with a smile. 

“Ah, Bud! There you are!” She greets, standing up and extending her arms for a hug. The Firbolg gives her one, feeling more comfortable with her physicality as the days go by. “I was wonderin’ if y’slept in--I was boutta call Lyra and tell her to knock on yer door!” She laughs to herself, patting the Firbolg on the arm as she gestures around her with the other. “Sooooo whaddya think? I know it ain’t as much greenery as yer probably used to, but we’ve expanded this place quite a bit since its start as a measly plot of dirt!” 

“Is good,” The Firbolg agrees, a small smile on his face as the smell of vegetation reaches his nose. “Reminds me of...home. Very good.” Jenny beams up at him, taking a seat back by the tulip patch and inviting the Firbolg to sit with her. He sits, looking comically large next to the already-big woman beside him. Jenny uproots a weed and tosses it into her basket. 

“Well, y’don’t hafta join me in de-weedin’ these tulips, but if y’wanted to pick some berries to bring home I can lend you a basket. Garden policy is pretty lenient on takin--just so long as yer not grabbing more than you need, you should be fine! A lot of these plants have been magicked to produce year-round too--mostly the ones in the greenhouse, since that’s where we grow our essentials like corn, potatoes, and the like--so you don’t have to worry about seasonal stuff either. It’s a pretty fine set-up we got here, allll the way out in the desert, don’tcha think?” 

“Yes, is very...e-ffic-ient. Berries are good to have always, I think…” The Firbolg replies. He doesn’t get up to go picking quite yet; his nerves have him pretty frozen on the spot, though it’d be hard to tell by looking at him. Jenny seems to notice his unease, for she stops her weeding and turns to face him with a concerned frown. 

“Somethin’ the matter, Bud?” She asks. The Firbolg bristles; he came here for advice, but bringing up the topic still gives him some manner of nerves. Jenny gently reaches out and places an assuring hand on his knee, soothing some of the Firbolg’s unease. He takes a moment to find the right words to say before muttering: 

“I am...worried. About clan.” 

Jenny makes a quiet noise, her mouth forming a small “o” before the frown returns. She pats the Firbolg’s knee reassuringly. “Aw, Bud, I’m so sorry yer homesick.” The Firbolg shakes his head. 

“No, not old clan. Old clan is long gone to me. I mean...new clan. _My_ clan,” The Firbolg clarifies, “Roy and...Aaron are my clan. And I worry about them because something has...changed.” Jenny nods along with his explanation, already having a sense where he’s going with this. Her and Lyra have noticed this, too; something changed in the two newcomers' dynamic after their first night. Which was honestly kind of strange, figuring Jenny had assumed the two were already a thing. But, after they both left the bar, something changed. The conversation she had with Roy stands out in her mind, now supported with Bud’s explanation. This change is new, and it’s tearing them apart. 

She sighs, shaking her head and turning her body to face the Firbolg fully. “I can tell somethin’s up. The two may think they’re slick, but me and Lyra have had our suspicions.” 

“They try to keep quiet around me, but is not like I don’t have ears,” The Firbolg continues, staring down at his hands. “I try to...give them space for talking, but they do all but talk. I...worry that what has come between them will...sep-ar-ate us.” He thinks of his solitary walk to Wiggenstaff’s, the loneliness that pervaded every fiber of his being as he walked unsure in one direction. He then thinks of his walk to Dust Field, how Argo and Fitzroy’s banter helped to ease the fears they all still held. How they worked so well as a group; how comfortable and safe he felt, for once in his life. 

Then he thinks about the future. Of what may happen if he doesn’t intervene. 

Of the lonely walk towards something new, with no brochure to cling to or friends to joke with. 

“Oh, hey, hey, hey! It’s okay, buddy!” Jenny coos, reaching up and wiping the tears that suddenly stream down the Firbolg’s face. “We’re gonna figure this out together, okay? I hate to see that big face of yours be sad--it’s worse than when a puppy gets left in the rain!” The Firbolg chuckles at that, doing exactly what Jenny hoped he would at that comparison. She gives the big guy a moment to breathe, pulling a rag out of the front pocket of her overalls to offer the Firbolg. He takes it, dabbing at a few of his tears and blowing his nose with a powerful blow. He hands the rag back to Jenny (now thoroughly snot-soaked), and she daintily grabs a snot-less corner to let it dry next to her. 

“Thank you, Jenny. You are...very nice to me.” The Firbolg says with a thankful smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes. Jenny smiles and pats his arm. 

“It’s what friends are for! And, since y’put up with my antics at the shop, I’d say you have successfully landed yourself in the ‘friend’ category in my books!” Jenny replies with a hearty laugh. “Now, about those other two, is there _anything_ you’ve heard from them that might point us to the root of the problem?” The Firbolg ponders this, thinking hard about the few moments of conversation or tension he’s been privy to. The most glaring offense is the night before, at the tattoo shop. Everything was going great until Argo said something that ticked Fitzroy off and sent him storming out of the building. He couldn’t make out what was said between the two after they got home, but judging by the speed of him leaving to Fitzroy slamming his door, he’d say not much was spoken. 

“Yesterday, we went to...tat-too shop. A-Aaron was getting something on arm, and also...uh...the bull! Yes! Bull ring! Like yours!” The Firbolg points to Jenny’s septum ring. “Things were okay, until...Aaron mentioned mom? And nude men. And Roy got very upset. Went home before us, and when we come home he still was angry. I...tried to give them space for talking, but they did not talk. That is only time I have seen it get bad.” Jenny thinks over this, attempting to piece together her own story from his account. 

“I...I think I know how I can help,” She says, eyebrows still furrowed in thought. “Yeah...yeah, I can do somethin’. And I’m sure if I ain’t got it, then Lyra will help. Her and Roy seem like folks of the same temperament, so she might know how to better understand him.” As she’s speaking, a plan begins to form in her mind. She is sure of nothing, but if there’s one thing Jenny Parker-Ross knows how to do it’s solve an impossible problem. And, given the two men’s stubbornness to just talk, she has a feeling where the roots of these problems lie. A wide, almost giddy, smile spreads across Jenny’s face as she looks up at the Firbolg. 

“Mark my words, Bud, I will _not_ let your clan fall apart. I got a plan, and when Jenny Parker-Ross has a plan, she sees it through to the bitter end! Y’understand? We’re gonna figure this out together and get those two on even ground again--even if it means locking them in a room for three whole weeks!” Her green eyes glimmer with determination, and it’s hard for the Firbolg to not find comfort in her tenacity. He may not know much about this woman, but there’s one thing he’s gleaned from his week here: She cares so passionately that it’s hard not to feel the same. He allows himself to become filled with her electric energy, feeling his own smile go far beyond where it normally sits. 

“I...am thinking we should keep that plan until last, but yes! We shall do this! The Thunderman LLC. will prevail, no matter the cir-cum-stance!” The Firbolg bellows, confident and excited. 

“I dunno what the fuck yer talkin’ about, but I’m with it!” Jenny says, delighted. The Firbolg laughs, loud and long, and Jenny claps excitedly. “Now, I’d say work on this particular project needs to sit on the backburner for right now. ‘Cause _I’ve_ got some tulips to weed,” she gestures to the patch in front of her, “and _you’ve_ got some berries to pick!” She grabs the extra basket from behind her and offers it to the Firbolg. He stares down at the basket, shocked, before gently taking it into one of his massive paws. 

“Thank you, Jenny. You are...friend to Bud. I will not forget this.” He says, his voice soft and kind. Jenny smiles kindly back at him as he stands, making his way over to the greenhouse. Once he’s far enough away, she sighs and shakes her head, amused. 

“Well, Jenny, y’asked for a little more excitement in yer life. Beggars can’t be choosers…” She mutters to herself with a smile. 

\---

A few days have gone by since Friday’s fiasco, and Fitzroy no longer feels as viscerally offended as he did the day of and after. Argo never apologized, but neither did he, so they’re even. Fitzroy can understand where his anger stemmed from and how Argo couldn’t have expected to know why he struck such a chord. However, that does not change Fitzroy’s current feelings about the rogue, nor does it sway him in any way to talk to him about this or their prior discussion. But, for the time being, he can be civil. 

Argo’s done an incredible job of giving Fitzroy that ability. Since Saturday morning, the genasi is barely around when Fitzroy is at the apartment. He’s either already holed up in his room for the night, or he’s working a late-night shift at Bustin’s Bar. It seems almost deliberate, the way Argo carefully and thoughtfully leaves room for Fitzroy to exist. It’s...nice, albeit strange. After their first argument, it seemed all Argo wanted to do was be right next to him; poised and ready to apologize. Has something changed? Has Argo finally decided Fitzroy isn’t worth the energy? He’s not sure. 

He’s equally as unsure why that second option makes him feel so shitty. 

There are times where they are still together, of course. Lunches with both bosses put them in the same room; as well as when they have dinner. But Argo is polite, he keeps his distance and says very little directly to the half-elf. It makes the air around them far less tense, and leaves him not as consistently frustrated. As such, he sleeps better and worries less about Chaos’s return. It feels like they’ve fallen into a rhythm; a deviation from their norm, but something Fitzroy can find himself acclimating to. 

So why does he feel so bad about it? 

He doesn’t know and, frankly, he’s not looking to find out. The emotions swirling around his chest will just have to calm themselves down on their own because he’s not dealing with it. He has his job--a job that he’s finding more comfort in as the days go by--and he has his routine. Since Sunday, he’s been coming into the shop early to work alongside Jenny on her carpentry projects. He needed something to do, and he remembered her saying she’s in on the weekends to do more personal projects. So, he tested his luck and came knocking, willing to get the boot. 

Jenny invited him inside, of course, and has begun showing Fitzroy around the woodcarving tools and such. She’s almost a little _too_ eager to have this one-on-one time, but Fitzroy is largely ignorant to this. The woodwork is calming for Fitzroy; getting to run his hands along the grain and chip away until he finds the art within is...nice. A tactile art he can see himself getting far too invested in; kind of like how his mother showed him how to knit and then had to buy an entire basket’s worth of yarn to support his hobby. 

Jenny kind of reminds him of his mother, in a weird and roundabout way. She’s eager, but not overwhelming. Kind and solid, but with a deep love for those she’s welcomed into her circle. A gentle soul with a powerful personality.

He doesn’t think of what his own mother is doing, a month after her son’s passing. He lets the woodgrain overwhelm every thought, lulling him into blissful ignorance. 

\---

Though it’s only been a week since that Sunday where he started working on Jenny’s projects with her, Fitzroy’s already worked himself into a solo routine, even with the Firbolg around the shop. So when he walks in on Tuesday and sees a curly mop of blonde hair at _his_ station, needless to say his routine has been thrown off. 

“H-Hey! Wait a minute, buster! That’s _my_ station!” Fitzroy cries out, though it’s drowned out by the sound of the sander the person is using. Fitzroy huffs and storms his way over to the offender, ignoring the look the Firbolg gives him as he shrugs and goes to his own work. Fitzroy stands beside the person, arms crossed, impatiently waiting for him to conclude sanding before Fitzroy tears him a new one. The person must notice his presence because he stops, setting the sander down and turning to face him. 

He has fair skin covered in freckles, and his blonde curls hang a little in his face. His eyes are a deep sapphire, obscured slightly by the safety glasses. His face is round and his cheeks are tinged red. He’s gaping at Fitzroy, which shows the prominent gap between his front two teeth. He’s wearing work gloves and a blue flannel. 

He won’t stop staring at Fitzroy. 

Fitzroy, not moved in his frustration in the slightest, coughs into his hand dramatically. This seems to jostle the guy out of whatever reverie he was lost in, jumping on his bench and fumbling to take off his glasses and gloves. 

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, but this part of the shop isn’t accessible to custo--” The guy starts to say, his voice surprisingly calming and soft.

“--I’m well aware of where the customers are supposed t’go, thank you very much,” Fitzroy cuts him off, careful to not slip into his city accent. “But what _I’m_ sayin’ is that you’re at _my_ station, and I’d really appreciate it if you scooted on over to another one.” The guy furrows his brows at this, looking back at his station and then to Fitzroy. 

“Y-Your station? Um, pardon me, but I’ve never even _seen_ you--” Just as he’s about to finish his sentence, Jenny appears from nowhere, throwing an arm around Fitzroy and pulling him close.

“There you are, Roy!” She greets Fitzroy with a smile, the guy looking between them with palpable confusion. Roy rolls his eyes but gives her a small smile in return. Then, she turns her attention to the guy still sitting. “Oh, fuck! I’ve been havin’ ya work at Wyatt’s station, haven’t I? Sorry ‘bout that, Roy, but this is my only other employee. Wyatt, stand up and greet the man, will ya? He just started working here two weeks back.” The guy--Wyatt, apparently--stands, absolutely dwarfed by the two people in front of him. He looks up at Fitzroy, that same awed look on his face as he sticks out a hand. 

“W-Wyatt Thomlinson, at your service,” he says, visibly nervous. Fitzroy silently notes Wyatt’s voice--lightly accented, indicating he’s from the area but not Dust Field specifically. Fitzroy steps out of Jenny’s grasp and shakes Wyatt’s hand, giving him a polite smile. 

“Roy Fitzgerald, it’s a pleasure to meet ya,” he replies before removing his hand from the slightly-sweaty handshake. Wyatt continues to gape up at him like a fish. Fitzroy frowns. “What are you starin’ at? Is there somethin’ on my face?” He reaches up to check just as Wyatt shakes his head. 

“No, no, no!! Sorry, I just am--you’re really hot so-- _wait I didn’t say that out loud_ y-you didn’t hear--” Wyatt slaps a hand over his mouth before he’s able to say anymore, turning about-face and grabbing his gloves and glasses with one hand. He then quickly strides over to another station and sits down, Jenny cackling all the while. She leans into Fitzroy with a smirk. 

“Poor guy gets really nervous around new folks,” she explains with a wink. “Be easy on him, will ya?” Fitzroy nods; the promise is easy to follow, figuring he has no current desire to be involving himself in things that don’t directly concern him. 

“I can manage that,” he replies with a shrug. Jenny laughs again, slapping him one more time on the back before walking away. Fitzroy moves to grab his stuff, ready to start back up on the piece Wyatt was tinkering with, when Jenny turns around and runs back to him. 

“Oh, I almost forgot! You doin’ anything tonight?” She asks. Fitzroy immediately shakes his head. Her grin grows. “Great! How about you come on down to the bar tonight for a couple rounds? You been workin’ so hard lately, you deserve a night to unwind.” Fitzroy already wants to say yes, but he can tell how much Jenny wants this. So, he plays with her a little. 

“Hmmmm, I dunno…” Fitzroy hums, thinking in an exaggerated manner. “Drinks are pretty expensiiiive…” Jenny rolls her eyes and shoves him. 

“I was already plannin’ on buyin’ the drinks, jackass.” 

“Oh, then I’ll go!” Fitzroy replies, Jenny snorting and ruffling his hair before walking off. Fitzroy smiles to himself and puts his gear on, picking up the sander Wyatt left and turning to his work. Right before he’s able to put sander to wood, he feels a prickling on the back of his neck. He turns his head in the direction of the feeling and watches Wyatt quickly turn to a random project he’s pulled in front of him, his face visibly flushed even from this distance. Fitzroy sighs and turns back to his project. 

What is this, a romance novel? There’s no way Fitzroy is going to fall in love with some dipshit he knows from work.

That’d be ridiculous. 

\---

Fitzroy finishes his day’s work and quickly makes his way home, eating dinner with the Firbolg (Argo still at work), taking a quick shower to wash the dust off, and changing into a casual outfit. He opts out of a flannel tonight for a simple white v-neck with black jeans and his black boots. Then, he wishes the Firbolg a good night and heads to Bustin’s Bar to meet up with Jenny. 

With it being a Tuesday and all, the bar isn’t too terribly busy. The regulars crowd their usual tables, sharing loud anecdotes of their day over large pints of beer. A few people are seated at the bar, two of which look like they’re on some sort of date. Two stools over from them is Jenny, who turns and waves kindly. He smiles and nods his head toward her, making his way over to the bar and sitting at her right, away from the canoodling couple. Lyra, who is manning the bar alone--Argo having already clocked out by this point in the night--smiles at him as she passes another patron a drink. 

“Hey, Roy, how’s it going?” Lyra greets, cleaning a glass as Jenny sips on her cider.

“Oh, y’know, long day with _this one_. Can kinda eat at ya after a while,” he replies, jokingly elbowing Jenny in the ribs. Jenny rolls her eyes and slaps his shoulder as Lyra chuckles. “Can I just get a beer or somethin’? I’m not really up for the strong stuff, tonight.” Lyra nods, grabbing a glass and filling it from one of the beer spigots before sliding the glass to him. Jenny blows her wife a kiss as payment, Lyra immediately flustering as she gets another order for a patron. 

With Lyra preoccupied with customers, Jenny turns towards Roy, sipping her cider thoughtfully. 

“So? How’re things? You settlin’ into Dust Field well?” She starts simple. Fitzroy sips his beer, grimacing slightly as he remembers why he doesn’t drink it often, and hums. 

“I’d say so. Things around here are pretty simple, so it’s kinda hard to _not_ get acclimated,” Fitzroy responds, setting down his beer with the intention to not touch it again. Jenny sees the way he reacts to his beer and sighs, grabbing it from him and giving him the rest of her cider. He looks surprised and mildly embarrassed. “O-Oh, no, it’s fine I’ll drink it--” 

“--Have the cider, honestly. I’d rather ya not waste a good beer,” she insists with a wave. “Anyway, so yer likin’ it around here? Things are, uh...going well for you and yer friends?” Fitzroy nods. 

“Yeah, Bud is doin’ well without all the nature around him, considering he’s a firbolg and all. And Aaron is, uh...I think he likes it here. He seems to enjoy the bar job plenty, if that’s any indication.” Fitzroy replies. Jenny hums thoughtfully and drinks her beer. 

“Yeah, yeah I’d say Aaron is doin’ pretty well for himself out here,” Jenny continues breezily. “He’s makin’ lots of friends by working barside, and plenty of fellas are startin’ to, uh... _take notice_ in him, as rumors would say.” She leans in toward Fitzroy when she says that part, wiggling her eyebrows to suggest something Fitzroy isn’t sure he wants to hear about. Then she leans back and returns to normal. “Of course, I don’t think he’s realized that himself. Poor sap’s got his head in the clouds over _somebody_ .” Fitzroy brings the glass of cider up to his lips, observing Jenny. She’s doing _something_ right now; he just isn’t sure what. He’ll have to keep playing her games to find out. 

“Oh really?” Fitzroy says with dramatized interest; just enough to keep Jenny on the hook without her getting wise. 

“Oh _really_ !” Jenny repeats, “Lyra’s told me he’s always off in his own little world, and she’s tried to ask him about it but he’s...pretty _vague_ about it.” She thinks something over for a moment before snapping her fingers and pointing at Fitzroy. “Hey, wait a minute! You’ve known the guy pretty long, right? Longer than anyone else here, at least. D’ya know who would maybe...catch his eye? O-Or maybe it’s somethin’ we’re misinterpretin’, and maybe it’s, like...an _issue_ or somethin’? Anyone who’d fit that description?” Fitzroy stares at her, gaping at what she’s trying to imply. From behind her, he can see Lyra slap a hand to her forehead in exasperation. 

“I-Is this a set-up?” Fitzroy guffaws, leaning away from Jenny. “What’re you trying to get out of me? I-I don’t _know_ Aaron more than you people do, that much is for damn sure!” His paranoia is triggering; he can feel Chaos in the corners of his vision, the cloying anxiety of being trapped like an animal causing his breathing to become shallow. Jenny picks up on this immediately and reaches out to calm him, but all Fitzroy can see is Calhain’s severed hand coming towards him. A bolt of electricity shoots out of his palm as he swats her advance, shooting her in her hand. 

“ _Fuck_!” Jenny shouts, falling off her stool and clutching her hand in pain. Fitzroy freezes just as the bar turns its full attention to him and Jenny on the floor. He can hear hushed murmurs behind him as Lyra hops over the bar with a damp rag, prying Jenny’s injured hand from her to wrap it. He can feel his magic boiling up inside of him, guilt and anger and fear turning his stomach to knots and his legs to lead. But the worst part is yet to come. 

The worst part is when Jenny looks up at him because, instead of looking afraid or angry or hurt, she just looks sorry. Like she can read right through him and understand the deepest, scariest parts that not even _he_ messes with. 

That gets his legs moving, barely getting an apology past his lips before he bolts out of the bar.

\---

He races back to the apartment, adrenaline piloting him as he races up the stairs. But he hesitates at the door--he can’t have anyone see him like this, and Argo will surely be inside. So he goes against instinct and continues to the stairwell, walking up as far as he can go. He reaches a door and throws it open without hesitation, stepping out onto the rooftop. 

The apartment building is one of the tallest buildings in Dust Field; only rivaled by Town Hall. He can see every inch of the town from where he stands, as well as endless stretches of dry dirt. In the distance, far beyond the gardens and homes, he can see the faint silhouette of the train station--the only way out of here. At that moment, the train station calls for him, beckoning him to leave it all behind again. It’d be easy; not a single soul would even know where he went, and he’d save them the trouble in case the demons ever tracked him here. Maybe he could finally do something right; do something just and good, without it hurting or mortally wounding or transforming someone into a bottom-feeding fish. He could have that future if he just ran from his present, and he feels urged toward it now. 

“Fitz?” The call is interrupted by a different one, this one far more tangible. He turns in the direction of the voice and sees Argo sitting at the edge of the building. Fitzroy hadn’t even noticed Argo sitting there when he first ran up here; but, now that they’ve locked eyes, Fitzroy no longer feels the need to run. 

...Huh. Strange. 

“U-Uh, hello, Argo!” Fitzroy responds, suddenly aware of how he might look in this moment. He adjusts his stance to something _painfully_ casual, running a hand through his hair to subtly tamp down any parts that may have stuck up during his magical outburst. “How’s it...uh, how’s it hanging? Y-Yo--You vibing up here, my guy?” Argo stares at him, each second he doesn’t respond feeling like an eon in Fitzroy’s mind. 

“Y-Yes? Fitzroy, are you okay?” Argo’s eyebrows are knit together, and that level of concern makes Fitzroy feel skittish. He bellows out an obviously fake laugh and makes his way over to the genasi, sitting beside him without an offer. 

“O-Of course I’m fine! I--Don’t question that, _please_.” His response teeters on sincerity at the end, but he recovers. “W-What brings you up here, friend? Taking in the, uh...idyllic scenery of the barren desert?” Argo huffs out a laugh, deciding it might be better to let Fitzroy take the lead. 

“You could say that, I guess,” Argo responds, grabbing the bottle from the other side of him and unscrewing the cap. He takes a healthy drink before lowering it from his lips, offering it to Fitzroy with a gesture. “You want some? It’s whiskey; nabbed it from the bar while Lyra wasn’t looking.” Fitzroy looks down at the bottle and decides, against his better judgement, to take it. He knocks back a good amount before handing the bottle back, wiping the residual droplets from his mouth while Argo chuckles in surprise at his actions. “Christ, Fitz, long day?” 

“You could say that, I guess,” Fitzroy mimics Argo’s response, smiling when Argo slaps a hand on his knee and laughs again. Argo looks at the bottle for a second too longer before he takes another drink and quickly screws the cap back on. The burn of whiskey is good in Fitzroy’s throat; it reminds him of simpler times. Of sneaking sips of alcohol out of his mother’s pantry in high school, before she eventually caught him and told him he’d need to wait a few more years. The memory dislodges something in Fitzroy’s mind. 

“Oh, hey, _super_ off-topic, but have you seen my flask?” Fitzroy asks, “I haven’t seen it since...w-well since--” Argo tosses something into his lap, and Fitzroy sees it’s his flask. 

“I actually nabbed this bottle to refill yer flask,” Argo admits, looking anywhere but at Fitzroy. “A-As, like, an apology? For, uh, y’know...spyin’ on you and diggin’ into yer life. I know it ain’t much, but I thought it’d be the thought that counts…” Fitzroy picks up the flask, turning it in his hands. Not only is it filled, but it looks like Argo...buffed it out? The few scratches and scrapes he’s accumulated over the years are glossed over. It’s also the cleanest its looked since he got it, the silver shining in the evening sun. 

His stomach turns and his throat burns, but he assumes it’s from the alcohol. 

“I-I--Thank you, Argo. I’m--I accept your apology.” He blurts out, surprising both of them. He looks at Argo and sees his face practically aglow, mouth open to say something. “ _Let me be clear_ , though. That does not mean I _forgive_ you. I just--this is very--i-it’s a good start. It’s...very nice…” Argo droops a little, but he still looks pretty happy with Fitzroy’s answer. 

“I can work with that,” Argo says, smiling. Fitzroy rolls his eyes, ignoring the warmth the alcohol put in his face to punch Argo lightly on the shoulder. Argo laughs, long and loud. 

The two lapse into silence for a few minutes, both sipping on their respective whiskey receptacles. The silence is comforting; Fitzroy can _almost_ forget the situation at the bar. Then, Argo looks over at Fitzroy and points to his flask. 

“I’ve been wonderin’, and yer free to tell me no on this one; but if that was yer father’s flask, then why’d yer mom give it to you?” The question is posed casually, but Fitzroy’s knee jerk response is to consider it snooping. Though, when he looks over and sees the conflicted look on Argo’s face--like he knows he’s probably fucked up by asking--he decides to ignore that response. Argo already knows about his past; what is divulging a little more going to do? 

“Well, because by the time I became of age, my father was already...out of the picture,” Fitzroy answers, not even attempting to hide the contempt in his voice at the mention of his father. 

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I--Is he...dead?” Argo says, stuck between whether he should be sympathetic or just plain surprised that Fitzroy even answered. Fitzroy laughs a dry, bitter laugh. 

“No, no. In my head, he is, but the last I checked that man is very much alive,” he explains. “No, he just decided to walk out on my mother and me when the money dried up, that’s all.” Argo stares, taking in the resentful look on Fitzroy’s face. 

“Wow, he sounds like a piece of shit,” 

“He sure is!” Fitzroy laughs again, this time not as sarcastically. The conversation overwhelms him with thoughts of his past--of his mother comforting him the day he left, of all the events his father missed--but he doesn’t feel bad. If anything, he’s _glad_ the childhood he remembers is with only his mother. “W-What about you, though? I know your mother is...unfortunately deceased, but your father…?” 

“Aye, dead as well,” Argo’s response is immediate, but not necessarily sad. Like he’s simply stating a fact of life. Definitely _not_ the response one would expect when someone says their father is dead. “Genies don’t typically survive the child-making process; they have to give up an awful lot of their magic in order for a genasi to be born. And my Ma was, uh, having _complications_ during m’birth. My father was still kickin’, and he knew that if he didn’t do something she might not survive. So, he gave the last bit of his power to my Ma, and she had me shortly after.” 

“O-Oh, Argo, I’m--” Not it’s Fitzroy’s turn to be at a loss for words. “Th-That’s really unfortunate, I’m sorry…” 

“Eh, it’s no skin off my back,” Argo waves him off, “I never knew the guy! What sentiment should I hold over a man I never met? Sure, in some way I do love the guy, ‘cause Ma talked about him really often. But it’s not like _I_ miss him. He’s just where I got these handsome features from~” He poses, flipping his hair over his shoulder while Fitzroy rolls his eyes. “And besides, I can’t imagine my life without my Ma, so I’m glad he made that decision. Shebrie is-- _was_ a good woman…” Argo’s gaze turns wistful, a sad smile gracing his features as he looks on the horizon. Fitzroy can’t help but be inclined to agree with that sentiment. 

“Sounds like we both had good mothers and surprisingly absent fathers,” Fitzroy notes, “Almost seems like our paths were destined to cross.” He means it as a joke, but his delivery makes it sound more sincere than feels comfortable. But the way Argo turns and looks at him--that strange glint back in his eyes as he smiles an entirely new smile--prevents Fitzroy from taking it back. 

“Aye, I’d say so,” Argo agrees, his voice soft and dripping with something Fitzroy can’t quite place. Fitzroy’s face burns (that whiskey sure does sit like a rock, huh) as he keeps his stare on the horizon, watching some greyish clouds move in their direction. The silence that falls this time is claustrophobic, like Fitzroy _should_ be saying something. He flounders for a conversation topic before letting impulse take control. 

“I--Pardon my asking, but you never said how it was your mother came to...uh...came to--” He sees Argo’s face fall out of the corner of his eye and instantly feels terrible. “Actually, y’know what? Forget I said anything, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t wish to--” 

“--She was murdered.” The response is so out of left field, Fitzroy nearly loses his balance on the edge of the building. He whips his head to Argo and sees this guy is _deadly_ serious, expression hard but distant. 

“H-Huh?? Pardon?” Fitzroy squeaks out, the air feeling heavy with a sinister aura not too dissimilar from when his magic is about to break out. Argo looks out on the clouds that continue their travel towards the town. 

“My Ma was murdered by the Commodore.” Argo says, tone resolute. Fitzroy stares in disbelief. 

“Y-You mean that guy you’ve been trying to be a sidekick for this whole time?” He asks, memories of his first interactions with the genasi coming to mind. Argo nods slowly. 

“I’m afraid I’ve been lyin’ about more than just my involvement in a secret society,” Argo admits. “You see, the whole reason I came to Wiggenstaff’s _was_ to be the Commodore’s sidekick. But that’s only so I can get under his skin--get as close to him as he got to my mother. Let him feel safe, maybe I even save his sorry butt a few times! That way I know he won’t expect it when I stab him in the back, _just_ like he did to Shebrie…” He grabs the whiskey and takes a long drink, nearly finishing the bottle. When he sets it down, he turns to Fitzroy, a fire in his eyes. 

“You see, the Commodore always knew my Ma was the better captain. She was more beloved by her crew, she was welcomed into more port cities, and she led her ship with the correct amount of kindness and iron. And the Commodore--he wanted that kind of respect. Even though he’s a naval captain, not a single _damn_ person in his battalion likes him. He’s rude, he’s fucking _racist_ , and generally just a piece of shit! But that’s how he got to where he was--by being a piece of shit and betraying all the people necessary. When Shebrie joined his fleet as a privateer, he noticed how beloved she was by...well, everyone! Not only that, but her track record had almost no casualties or losses to the ship. And he just _couldn’t_ be satisfied with having the highest ranking position in the Queen’s Navy--no, he had to have the _respect._ He wanted the _prestige_ . He _wanted_ the Mariah.” 

“But Ma wouldn’t give it to him. He offered her endless riches, numerous positions in the Navy--hell, he even tried to give her an _island_ in exchange for her ship! But she wouldn’t budge! The Mariah was _hers_ and she was inclined to keep it that way. So, the Commodore tried something else. He’d send our ship on increasingly dangerous missions--promising immense riches at the end of it, only for it to come up short. Most of this phase was when I was a baby. After one of the missions nearly got me killed, Ma threatened to leave the fleet. He apologized and put the Mariah on a few years’ leave. I grew up during this leave. We’d go on the occasional adventure, but for the most part we just visited ports. But the Commodore just... _couldn’t_ leave us alone. His next tactic was trying to...to _court_ my Ma.” The disgust on Argo’s face is palpable. 

“He’d invite her to galas, randomly send gifts or just send _himself_ . He thought he was sly enough to win her favor, but if there’s one thing my Ma was, she was a woman of _taste_ . She had enough after about a year and told him to stay the hell off her ship. And...for _once_ , he listened.” Argo’s face falls, and he gets eerily quiet. Fitzroy nearly thinks the story is over, until Argo looks at him dead in the eye and says: 

“He sent an enemy ship, instead. And they _killed my mother._ ” Fitzroy is frozen under Argo’s stare. Argo jerks his head away and subtly rubs at his eyes. “He made it look like just a random raid, but I’m not a fool. I heard stories for _years_ about how the seven seas loved my Ma. But I was a kid at the time! There was nothing I could do, nor anything I could prove. The Commodore got what he wanted--he sent the ship back to shore, now captain-less, and took it as his own. The crew disbanded entirely, and I was thrown into foster care until I was of-age. _That’s_ when I found out what really happened to my Ma--after searching for _two years_ I found those bastards in a bar and pointed a knife at their captain until they told me why they raided the Mariah all those years ago.” 

“And when I heard it was because of _him_ ? That slimy, slippery son of a bitch? Oh, gods above, I _lost it_ . I was about ready to travel _alllll_ the way back to the Queen’s palace, find his quarters, and slit his throat in his sleep. But...I couldn’t. Like all good things, I’ve had t’wait my turn. But I _will_ get my turn, Fitzroy, mark my fucking words.” His words are cold and sure; they imprint on Fitzroy’s brain like the brand on his chest. Argo’s _never_ looked this serious; it casts a shadow over his face that makes him look more sinister. More malicious. The air is heavy with his story, and the skies are dark. Fitzroy is at a loss for words, which Argo seems to pick up on. 

“O-Oh fuck, I--I’m sorry, Fitz, that was probably--probably _way_ too heavy of a story for right now, huh?” He laughs uncomfortably, attempting to hide this side of him again. Fitzroy shakes his head. 

“No, it’s--I’m glad you could tell me this. I--If it’s any consolation, if I ever see this shithead in public, I’d Thunderwave him and shout, ‘That one’s for Shebrie, dipshit!’” Fitzroy replies, sincere in his intentions even with the joke. It makes Argo laugh-- _genuinely_ laugh--and the air lifts a little. “No, seriously! I’d say our current predicament has only given you the upper hand! If everyone assumes you’re dead, he’ll never see you coming! W-We could go on a whole murder crusade thing, y’know! Personally, after hearing _that_ story, I’m certainly down for killing this fool.” Argo laughs harder, bending over himself as a few stray tears make his way down his face. The laughter is a relief to Fitzroy, glad he’s able to help pull Argo from the brink. Argo looks at him and sits up, wiping a stray tear from his eye. 

“I appreciate that, Fitzroy, I really do,” he says before huffing out another laugh. “It’s funny. I’ve never actually...told that story to anyone…” Fitzroy shrugs. 

“Well, _I’ve_ never told anyone about my past, so let’s call it even.” He replies, half-joking and half-sincere. Argo shakes his head fondly, smiling softly. 

“I can do that,” he says, Fitzroy smiling in kind. They stare at each other for a moment, something bubbling between them, and then-- 

BOOM! 

They both jump as thunder booms around them, immediately followed by a torrential downpour of rain. Fitzroy gasps as he is instantly soaked to the bone, looking over the edge of the building to see people coming outside to stand in the rain. The road beneath them--merely a path of dirt--turns to mud as kids run through the streets. It seems this town rarely sees rain of this capacity, and somehow that makes Fitzroy laugh. He turns to Argo to point this out and freezes. 

Argo is...breathtaking. He’s staring up at the sky, eyes squinted shut as he laughs--open-mouthed--into the rain. His hair, naturally water-slick, looks unbothered by the downpour. As Fitzroy observes further, he sees the rain droplets actually _become_ part of his hair--not merely soaking it, but joining it. His white button-down is drenched, clutching to his chest in a way that shows off his broad chest and abs. But Fitzroy feels more drawn to his face, the picture-perfect example of someone _truly_ happy to be caught in the rain. 

That something constricts his chest with an intensity he’s never felt before, leaving him breathless and slightly hot. Argo looks away from the sky to the half-elf and becomes trapped in Fitzroy’s stare. But, for some reason, instead of looking confused or uncomfortable, Argo looks...probably how _he_ does. Mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and shining with that _something_ \--caught in the gears of time just...staring. 

Fitzroy feels himself leaning towards Argo before he can register Argo leaning towards him. It feels right to be doing this--like a ship coming to harbor, or a horse-drawn carriage arriving home. Fitzroy almost allows himself to be lost in this sense of _right_ and give in to the gravitational pull. 

Keyword: almost. 

“ _UH_!” Fitzroy jerks away, realizing just how dangerously close he got to Argo’s mouth. “I-I, uh, I-I have--it’s pneumonia, I’ll--I have to go inside!” He stands, grabbing his flask on the way up and not even daring to glance behind him as he dashes to the door. He throws it open and slams it shut behind him, pressing his back against the metal to cool his searing-hot body. He shakes his head to rid himself of any doubts and stomps his way downstairs. 

\---

Argo sits, stuck in the same position he was before Fitzroy ran off. He...did they almost kiss? He surely felt like that was about to happen; the feeling of Fitzroy’s breath still hot on his own face. He lets the rain cool him off as he sits, resigned to simply imagining the soft press of the barbarian’s lips against his own. 

He sighs, absentmindedly reaching up to tug on his necklace, only to catch his shirt instead. 

Huh, that’s...weird. 

He reaches up again, this time searching for the chain along his collarbone, only to come up empty again. Panic quickly replaces his glee as he begins slapping at his chest, looking down but not quite believing what he’s seeing. 

“Oh, _Gods_. Ma’s necklace,” he gasps, a deep pit of dread forming in his very core. 

“ _It’s gone._ ” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are uncovered as the compass spins. 
> 
> On the new horizon, feelings begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm just gonna stop mentioning how long it's been because shit takes Time, okay. also i just started junior year of college dear jesus christ please help me. anyway, this chapter i basically had to beat out of my brain, so i hope it sounds like Anything. 
> 
> onto fanart shoutouts! if you want one, make art and tag me on tumblr @fitzroythecreator! you know the drill by now! 
> 
> shout out to matt for making [two beautiful pieces](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/626074706285592576/i-cannot-express-to-you-how-badly-you-want-to-read) of [beautiful art](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/626041080453988352/read-ssoss-fuckers), inspired by the last scene in chapter 3! bro, i stared at these for deadass Hours, and You Know This
> 
> that's all i got! enjoy!

Something is wrong. 

Well, a lot of things are wrong, technically. Three students are dead, the school is basically on lockdown because of the H.O.G.’s investigation into their deaths, and sometimes there are weird noises at night that no one can quite explain. 

But something _deeper_ is off, that much Rainer Michelle is certain of. 

Typically, after a significant death, there is an imbalance. The sudden loss of life doesn’t always leave room for the sudden introduction of new life--death’s counterbalance. Thus, there is a gap. That gap isn’t a fully understood thing to most people, but those attuned with the ebb and flow of death can usually sense it. The world becomes a little more muted, the air sits uncomfortably in your lungs. You might even start tripping over nothing or forget an important date. That’s what the imbalance does. 

Then, new life is brought in, and the imbalance is resolved. That’s how it’s _supposed_ to work. 

Only, after the tragic and unexpected death of the Thundermen, there is no imbalance.

Rainer assumes she’s simply blinded by her grief; that her mind is too preoccupied with mourning for her to pick up on the change. But even after the school’s memorial--after Rainer has cried every tear in her body and let herself rest to begin life anew--the balance of the universe is...normal. She goes through her days without so much as a minor inconvenience. Her friends are unaware of the oddity, so she tries her best to ignore it. 

Only _now_ it’s been over a month and everything is still _normal_. 

So, needless to say, Rainer gets concerned. 

There’s no way life could have been brought in so quickly that the loss of three _significant students_ would be missed by the universe. In her twenty years of life, Rainer has never experienced a turnaround that great. Usually the imbalance will right itself in about a month’s time--the fastest she’s ever experienced herself was two weeks after her cat died. 

She starts to wonder what this may mean, but she’s at a loss as to where to start. She writes home to her father for advice, and the letter she gets back puts her on the right path: 

_My dearest Rainer,_

_It sounds to me like there is more to this situation than what others may think. I remember when I had to fake my death to shake off my naysayers--how burdened by grief your father was while I finished my lich transformation. But he could feel that I was not dead; either that or the universe was clueless to my absence. When I returned to him, powerful in my lichdom and ready to take the throne, all your father could do was hit me and say, “I knew it.”_

_Trust your instincts, my ray of sunshine. More than that, trust your abilities! You didn’t become Nua’s most powerful necromancer for no reason!_

_Let me know what you find out, and please remind me when I need to pick you up for Spring Break. Your father’s going to be out of town on a business trip, and I don’t want to accidentally send the skeleton carriage a week early (like last year)._

_I’m sending you all my love._

_Signed and Dictated by the Court of the Undying Lord_

_(your Dad <3) _

It takes very little to convince her friends to help. 

Well, sort of. 

“Remind me _again_ why we need to do this?” Rolandus groans for the fourth time today, at least careful enough to keep his voice down as the group makes their way down the hall of the Villain dormitory. Rainer rolls her eyes, silently questioning why she had to bring _him_ along, and turns around to shoot him an unimpressed look.

“ _Because_ I need to be sure of something,” Rainer bites back, “If you were going to bitch about it _this much_ , you could’ve denied the offer, Rolandus.” Rolandus looks at her, face lightly flushed with embarrassment, and then scoffs. 

“Wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to break-and-enter.” he says. Rainer sighs and turns back around just as they get to their destination: Room 421. 

The Thundermen’s dorm. 

Buckminster tries the door handle and shakes his head when it doesn’t budge. 

“It’s locked,” he states, stepping back as Rhodes approaches the door. She crouches down and starts picking the lock, her brief stint in the Rogue path now coming in handy. As she does this, Zana stands behind her, wand out and spell readied. Leon and Rolandus watch the hallway from either side, keeping the party just out of sight of the Garys that are positioned at the ends of each hallway. Rainer anxiously waits, squirrel skeleton nudging her hand reassuringly before jumping back into her chair’s compartment. 

“Got it,” Rhodes whispers, tools positioned just so. “We ready?” 

“Ready,” Zana replies, the rest nodding their affirmation. They all look to Rainer for her word. She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath in, and thinks of her father’s words. 

“ _Go._ ” 

Rhodes pushes the door open as Zana casts her spell, Leon ushering the rest of the group inside before the hallway Garys could sense the commotion. He shuts the door, leaving the group in darkness as Buckminster finds the lightswitch. When he flicks it on, they survey their surroundings. 

The dorm looks the same as all the others in this building, save for the few personal knicknacks they’ve put in the main room, as well as the Gary encased in a blinding and silencing spell. The team breathes a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the censored Gary, meaning their plan has succeeded thus far. 

“How long does that spell go for?” Leon asks, looking to the tiefling. 

“An hour. Should be enough time to get in and out, yes?” Zana says as she puts her wand away. Rainer floats around the dining room table to face the group. 

“Hopefully it doesn’t take that long!” she says, voice cheery and confident. “Okay, so our task is simple: I need something to channel a spirit from the Astral Plane. Find anything that looks significant--like something _personally_ valuable, not literally valuable--and bring it to me. I’ll have a better read on whether something has enough residual energy to channel the spirit world with. That sound good to everyone here?” 

“But why do you--” Rolandus starts, quickly cut off by Buckminster slapping a hand over his mouth and giving Rainer a thumbs up. The taller man rolls his eyes and pries Buckminster’s hand off his face. “ _Yes_ , fine, okay it’s great.” The others laugh quietly, causing Rolandus to clam up further. 

“Great! Nooooooow break!” Rainer exclaims, the group moving at her command. 

Rhodes, Zana, and Rainer take Fitzroy’s room; while Leon, Buckminster, and Rolandus take Argo and Master Firbolg’s. Despite Fitzroy’s penchant for the extravagant, his room is surprisingly bare; a few posters from Boycloak Magazine and CNNKS on his walls, a well-made bed, and a closet teeming with fanciful clothing are all the half-elf really keeps to his name. It’s disappointing for their quest, but also a little...sad. Rainer never realized how lonely Fitzroy was; how separated he’s kept himself since knight school. Still, she forges onward, touching each and every cloak to gauge the residual lifeforce left clinging to them. Unfortunately, fabric is one of the least conductible materials for life energy, so this room is a bust. 

Fortunately, the boys have some luck in the sidekicks’ room. 

“Rainer! Check this out!” Buckminster calls, pulling Rainer from her pile of cloaks to look up at the redhead in the doorway. “Leon may have found something good!” 

What Leon had found was a box, hidden in the bottom drawer of Argo’s dresser under a mound of old papers and homework. It’s a simple wooden box with a latch-lock, easily pried open to reveal a myriad of things from Argo’s long life at sea. Folded-up maps, faded pictures of a younger Argo with a large number of other sailors, a few beautifully-colored seashells. And, laying gently atop it all, a necklace. 

The necklace is beautiful. A shimmering, perfect sapphire--cut in a teardrop--glints in the lights of the room. A gold chain attaches the gem to the rest of the jewelry; and though it is simple, the group gawks at it. 

“Why in the hell does _Argo_ have this?” Rolandus breathes out, watching Leon carefully take the necklace out of the box and into one of his massive hands. “I didn’t take the genasi to be a man of finer things.” 

“Oh, shut it,” Buckminster chides, still transfixed on the gemstone. “The better question is, will this work? Because, in _my_ opinion, I’d say the priceless jewelry sitting atop a number of memorabilia from a childhood long gone is a choice enough vessel for some dude energy.” Zana snorts at “dude energy”, causing Rhodes to snicker as well. Leon sighs and hands the necklace over to Rainer. 

“Try this out,” the fighter says, careful not to damage the necklace. As soon as the cool metal of the chain touches Rainer’s fingertips, she feels the difference. 

The energy coming off of it is faint, but palpable. It stirs an uncomfortable pit in her gut--a pit that hoped if they found nothing then it meant there was hope that they could be alive. But it also relieves her to know she has a way of getting to the bottom of this. She closes her hand around the necklace and channels a wave of necrotic energy into it, willing the energy out of the necklace to guide her to the Astral Plane. The energy flows forth, shining like a beacon in her mind’s eye to the source. 

“O-Okay…” Rainer breathes out, looking at her friends with a shaky smile. She reaches out instinctively towards Zana, who is immediate in her reciprocation. She squeezes the teifling’s hand and steels herself for the plunge. “See you guys on the other side!” 

And then, she goes. 

\---

Entering the Astral Plane is not an easy feat; but, for an experienced necromancer like Rainer, it only takes a little willpower. 

Of course, upon entry, she can feel the scornful gaze of the Raven Queen on her back and understands her time here will be limited. She follows the beacon of light through the mist and focuses all her energy on that source. It could be seconds or hours that pass in her journey, but suddenly the beacon of light fades as a figure comes into view. 

Given the weakness of the energy, the figure is blurry and hard to focus on. Rainer feels like every time she trains her eye on it, the figure shifts. The Astral Plane is eerily silent. 

“H-Hello?” Rainer calls out, her voice sounding like it barely passed her lips. The figure stays still. “Ar...Hello? Argonaut Keene, is that you?” Rainer understands that time in the Astral Plane whittles down on souls; removing familiarities to prepare it for eternal rest. As such, it could be plausible that a month has already removed Argo’s familiarity with his friends from the physical world. But his name should still be recognizable, as that is one of the last things the Raven Queen takes before She lays a soul to rest. 

The name gets a reaction out of the figure. Though hard to see, Rainer can sense the figure’s eyes on her. 

_H...How do you know that name?_ A voice echoes. It feels like the voice is all around Rainer, simultaneously speaking to her from all angles and all distances. It’s...unnerving, to say the least. It’s also decidedly _not_ how Argo sounds, which makes Rainer frown. 

“How do _you_ know that name?” Rainer calls back. 

_That is not what I asked._ The figure says, suddenly closer than before. Not incredibly close, but just enough that Rainer can start to make out a general shape. They look to be a bit taller than Argo, and their skin is a light brown instead of a light blue. Whoever this is, it’s _not_ Argo. 

_I asked_ ** _you_** _how you know that name._ Their tone sends a shiver through Rainer, in whatever way a shiver manifests in an intangible form. Still, she stays strong, deciding to appease the figure. 

“Argo Keene is my friend,” Rainer explains, “I’m looking for him. Have you happened to see him around here? Or two other spirits that might have come in with him?” Her questions seem to throw the figure off, the distance between them growing greater again. They move a hand to their head and keep it there. 

_That...There’s no way. There is no way that’s possible._ The figure states, but Rainer has a feeling it isn’t to her. _I was promised to be notified when he--I would_ ** _know_** _if he were--_

“Might I ask you something?” Rainer butts in, doing her best to pull a wavering spirit away from the brink of a meltdown. “ _Why_ would you know if Argo was here?” The figure turns to her again, getting a little closer than before. Now Rainer can make out more shapes; their body looks sturdy, but with some curves. They’re wearing long pants and a flowy long-sleeved shirt. They also have a bright red bandana tied around their wrist, the most physical part of their body by far. Rainer recognizes the significance of that kind of clarity in the Astral Plane; it’s not necessarily a phylactery, like a lich might use to store their being if they’re injured or threatened, but it’s a tether to another plane. Wherever it may be tied to, it means the soul cannot be laid to rest until the bond is severed. 

_The Raven Queen made a promise._ The figure starts, forcing Rainer out of her train of thought. _She said he would be brought to me, when it was his time. If there is any person on this plane that knows where Argo is, it’s_ **_me_ ** _. And he’s_ **_not here_ ** _._ Their words are sure, echoing in Rainer’s ear with a finality not unlike death itself. 

They’re not lying. Argonaut Keene is alive. 

“Oh…” Is all Rainer can say as that realization washes over her. Her intuition...was correct? He’s...he’s alive? If that is true, then it must mean the clearing their remains were found in weren’t...remains at all? 

_Can I ask you something, as well?_ The figure gets Rainer’s attention again. She nods, too dumbfounded for words. _Why are you looking here? Has something happened?_

 _Boy_ , is that the understatement of the century! 

“Y-Yes, something happened,” Rainer begins, at a loss for words for so _many_ reasons. “Argo is--Okay, rewind a little for context. So, uh, hi! I don’t think I ever introduced myself, but my name is Rainer Michelle! I’m one of Argo’s friends, who he met at Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy.” She waves to the figure, who laughs softly and waves back. “Argo came to the school this year, after...I actually don’t know. He was a sailor for a while? You...you _probably_ know a bit more about Argo, I assume?” 

The figure nods. 

“Okay, cool! So Argo came to the school this year on the Sidekick track. I _think_ he was trying to work with...The Commodore? I dunno, he mentioned it a couple of times, and seemed _really_ eager so…” That particular phrase makes the figure shift, and they’re close enough now that Rainer can see them clutch their chest with an intense grip. “Y-Yeah, so, uh. Argo had other friends, too! Mostly the two he worked and lived with, Fitzroy and Master Firbolg. Together they formed a corporation? I dunno, I think they just wanted a fancy name for their team, and Fitzroy’s really dramatic, so… _Anyway_ , what I’m _trying_ to get at is that Argo, Fitzroy, and Master Firbolg went on an assigned mission about a month ago. And then, two days after their mission was completed and they were supposed to be heading home, their remains were found in a clearing and they were all presumed _dead_.” Rainer pants as she concludes her Fantasy Sparknotes summary of the last month of her life; the figure standing, face imperceptible. 

_But, he is_ ** _not_** _dead, so that means…_

“That means the remains found _aren’t_ their final remains,” Rainer concludes. “And that _something_ either...either _happened_ to them, o-or _someone_ got in the way and--a-and I honestly don’t know! I came here on a hunch, and now that you’ve confirmed my best _and_ worst suspicions I gotta start from square one all over again!” Rainer sighs before she can get too upset, not wanting to blow up on this poor spirit, and gives the figure a genuine smile. “But I thank you for your insight, truly and honestly. I’m sorry to make you think he was dead, b-but I’m grateful for the information you’ve given me.” The figure radiates a smile. 

_Argo is cunning,_ They say, voice soft and touched with fondness. _If he were threatened or felt he was in danger, he has very creative ways of ensuring himself and those closest to him are safe. If I were you, I’d start at the source. And...if you find the Commodore before you find him, keep him away from Argo. Something in me thinks he may be involved, and I fear what my boy may have planned for that sorry son of a bitch. But, I am honored to meet one of Argo’s friends. You are brave to traverse into the Astral Plane just to find a friend--that is a loyalty I can respect._

“Aw, shucks, it ain’t no biggie!” Rainer blushes, waving off the figure’s compliments cheekily. “It’s no problem for me to get here! Though I think I should skidaddle soon because I can feel the Raven Queen burning a hole through my back! I-If that’s alright with you?” 

_It is more than alright, Rainer Michelle._ The figure replies, ending the conversation. Before Rainer is able to pull herself back through, though, the figure jumps--the most human-like thing they’ve done this entire conversation. 

Just as Rainer is about to open her mouth to ask what might be wrong, the figure is in her face. 

From this close, every feature of the woman is completely clear. Her beautiful brown skin, sporting a couple of faded scars on her chest and face. Her hair, cascading down her in long, ginger waves. There is an exact replica of the bandana on her wrist atop her head, keeping her hair out of her face. She’s smiling, soft and genuine, with a few wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. Her whole face is wrinkled, as a matter of fact, but not in an unflattering way. The most striking thing about her, though, has to be her _eyes._ Bright, young, beautiful emerald green--filling Rainer with the warmth she feels seeing her family after a long time apart. 

_Thank you for caring for him, Rainer Michelle. Just make sure you take care of yourself, alright?_ The woman says, this time the sound actually coming out of her mouth. Rainer nods wordlessly, making the woman smile wider. _Give Argo my love. Goodbye!_

And, just like that, Rainer is back in her own body. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Zana murmurs, seeing the life return to her friend’s face as the faint violet magic surrounding her dissipates. “She’s okay, guys!” The others jump to life, having been sitting and nervously counting down the clock of Zana’s spell on the Gary. They hang back, allowing Zana the room to assess Rainer and ease her back into the physical realm. “You breathing, baby girl?” 

“I…” Rainer gasps, still not quite there but coming quickly back to herself. “I’m here, hot stuff...I-I...I’m here…” She can feel her heartbeat returning to normal, having stopped while Rainer was in the Astral Plane. “I...H-How long was I out?” 

“Twenty minutes,” Zana says, nervously reaching out to cup the side of her face. “You scared the shit out of m--us. Scared the shit out of _us_.” Zana blushes, trying to ignore her slip-up as she moves a piece of Rainer’s hair behind her ear. “You doing okay? Everything still in its proper place?” Rainer laughs breathlessly, relishing in the cool skin of Zana’s hand, and nods. Zana lets out a little laugh, as well. “That’s good…” 

“ _Alright_ ,” Rolandus butts in, not able to stomach this pine-fest any longer. “I think it’s safe to say we got our friend back safe and sound, yes? No need for...whatever the hell it is you two are doing right now.” Rhodes elbows him in the gut, causing the hero to topple over in pain. 

“What did you find?” Rhodes asks, ignoring the petty wails of Rolandus on the floor. “Was...Is Argo there?” The question weighs heavily on the others, immediately silencing Rolandus’s dramatics as Buckminster helps him off the floor. Rainer, still contextualizing herself with her own body, takes a second before she answers. 

“Oh yeah! Argo’s not dead.” Rainer states cheerily. The others stare at her, dumbfounded. 

“H-He’s _alive_?!” Buckminster gapes. 

“If he’s alive, what the hell were you _doing_ in there for so long?!” Zana asks on top of Buckminster’s question. Rhodes and Rolandus are staring in shock, the puzzle pieces slowly coming together for them both as Leon stands and tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Rainer smiles, taking the sapphire necklace and carefully placing it back in the box where it was found. 

“To answer your first question: Yes! Argo is very much alive. To answer your _second_ question: I was finding out Argo wasn’t dead!” Rainer explains as she floats over to Argo’s dresser, pushing a button on her chair and summoning two of her skeletons. She hands the box to the skeletons and points to the bottom drawer, the two rodents scurrying down with the box and placing it inside the drawer. “I was having the loveliest--if not a little existentially terrifying--conversation with whatever woman owned that necklace last! She knew a lot about Argo, though, and was _very_ concerned when I mentioned the thought of him being dead. But! She informed me that there isn’t any conceivable way he could be there without her knowing, and she _didn’t_ know! Therefore, the Thundermen are alive and well!” 

“W- _Wait_ ,” Leon starts, just as the rest of the group voices their own confusion. “Who was the woman?” 

“Yeah, and how can we _trust her_?” Rolandus adds on. 

“If they’re alive, then why were their remains planted in that clearing?” Buckminster asks, mostly to himself, as he tries to wrap his head around the situation. 

“Why is there a woman attached to that necklace? And why does _Argo_ have it?” Rhodes says, looking warily at the drawer the skeletons are pushing closed. The only person who doesn’t add a question is Zana, who stands and waves a hand in the air to silence the others. She can tell Rainer’s getting overwhelmed, and she wants her friend to get all her thoughts out before the spell dissipates. 

“Might I remind everyone we have a _timer_ waiting in the next room?” Zana says, pointing into the main room. “We can hold questions for when we’re out of here. But for _now_ , Rainer, is there anything else you need to get out?” Rainer smiles at the sorcerer, feeling herself flush at the kind attention she’s being given. She pushes past her pining for a moment, though, to focus on the matter at hand. 

“ _Yes_ , thank you, Zana,” Rainer says, nodding towards the tiefling. “Listen, gang, I don’t know exactly _who_ that lady was. Though...now that I think about, she did call Argo ‘her boy’, so I’m assuming that was his mom? Either way, she looked really trustworthy, so we’re going to take her word as factual and conclude the Thundermen are alive! Now, our next mission is to get to the scene of the crime.” She turns and points at Rhodes. “We’re gonna need your tracking expertise for this one, Rocky Rhodes, because I have a hunch that they’ve gotten a bit of a heads start on all of us.” Buckminster frowns and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Hold on, hold on,” he starts, “are you implying that _they_ planted evidence of their own death? And that they used the opportunity to _run away_?” Rainer looks past Zana to the Gary on the wall, feeling the skin on the back of her neck crawl (even though she knows it can’t see her). 

“I think they were clued in to something here at this school that we’ve been missing…” Rainer admits, voice suddenly soft. “Haven’t you heard it, too? At night? The noises...the footsteps...Something isn’t _right_ , and I think whatever it was made them think starting over was better than returning here…” The group falls into deafening silence, each of them feeling the intensity of Rainer’s words amplified by their own experiences. Despite their best efforts to ignore it, she’s right: Something weird is happening at Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy. 

And they were about to take the plunge to find out. 

“We should go,” Leon breaks the silence, and they do exactly that. They make everything look as normal as possible, flip off the lights, and sneak out the way they came. Walking through the hallway, they feign returning to normal conversation as they pass the hallway Garys, but their stony gaze pierces each and every one of their backs. 

When they get outside, things lighten slightly. The group vows to meet up the next morning to talk over a game plan and breaks off. Buckminster and Leon walk back to their dorm, while Rhodes and Rolandus walk towards the cafeteria. Zana wordlessly begins walking Rainer back to her dorm, the silence between the two comfortable but off. 

“What made you trust that woman so much?” Zana asks, after a while. Rainer looks up at the tiefling, the setting sun casting her red skin aglow. She blushes, turning away quickly before Zana could catch her staring, and shrugs. 

“I dunno, she seemed nice!” Rainer explains simply, “Also? She was, like, _really_ hot…” Zana lets out a startled laugh, looking down at Rainer. 

“She was _hot_ ? A fucking _ghost_ , Ray-Ray?” 

“ _What_ !? What do you want me to say!? She was hot!” Rainer throws her hands up in exasperation, making Zana laugh louder. “She looked like a sexy pirate chick-- _that’s hot_!!”

“Oh, so you think pirates are _hot_ , now?” Zana retorts, rolling her eyes. Rainer snorts and nods her head. 

“Fucking _duh_ , Z! _All_ women are hot, but _especially_ pirates with red hair!” Rainer says it like it’s a fact of life, and Zana nearly falls over on herself in her laughter. Rainer rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling and laughing along with her friend, the moment a pleasant distraction from the weight of what they’re now burdened with. After a few moments, the laughter dissipates and silence stretches between them again. 

Zana reaches up to her ebony black hair and runs a hand through it, feeling suddenly like she needs to dye it again. 

“Y-You like redheads?” Zana asks, stiff and awkward. Rainer looks up at Zana carding through her hair and blushes. 

“I-I like girls with black hair, too…” Rainer mumbles before realizing how specific that answer was. “H-Hair isn’t really a defining factor to me. I-It’s about personality!” 

“And pirates?”

“ _And_ pirates,” Rainer repeats, watching Zana laugh under her breath. At this angle, she can see the golden glow of Zana’s highlighter, and the gold eyeliner that matches her eyes. “But sorcerers are pretty hot, also.” She times her phrase well, reaching her dorm just as she delivers that powerful blow. She throws open the door and gives Zana a flirty wink before closing it behind her, immediately deflating. She hopes she got the vibe of that moment right, or else looking for her “dead” friends is going to suck. 

Meanwhile, Zana stares at the door for a long moment, mouth agape. 

She turns on her heel and sprints to her own dorm, feeling a giddy burst of energy as she throws herself onto her bed. Despite everything she learned today, being around Rainer always makes her feel especially airy. She looks out the window and sighs, watching a cluster of storm clouds head westward as she daydreams of pirates and daring rescues and being _that_ redhead for one particular blonde. 

\---

Dark clouds loom over the school, but are quick to pass. They carry their burden onwards, towards the West, where they might come upon two friends atop a roof--sharing stories of their past and moments unavoidable. 

But, in the darkened halls and even darker classrooms of Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy, a storm is already brewing. 

Hieronymous’s office is illuminated only by candlelight, the headmaster looking over papers with a deeply exhausted expression. At first glance, one might only see the picturesque tableau of a teacher hard at work--staying up late into the night to guarantee the success of their students. But, if one were to look more closely, they would see the exhaustion goes only skin-deep on Hieronymous’s face, and underneath lies a deep and unknowing well of rage. 

After all, demon princes aren’t supposed to be headmasters. 

His mile-long stare is interrupted by the flickering of candlelight, a chill breeze suddenly ripping into the room as the air shifts. When he looks up, a figure looms over him. They are long and serpentine, pearlescent scales shining in the dim light as they fix the headmaster with a pointed, beady stare. They don’t have arms, but they have hands floating idly by their body. Their head is reptilian, but their features are exaggerated. A mouth too large and eyes too wide. The headmaster immediately stumbles in his movement to stand. 

“L-Lord Chaos!” he exclaims, bowing deeply to the deity as he drops his elven disguise. 

**_Hello Grey_ ** , Chaos coos, smiling down at their subordinate. **_Working hard or hardly working?_ **

“O-Oh, I--” Grey starts, standing back up and looking down at the papers on his desk. “--School things, simply. Have to keep up appearances and all, you know how it is.” 

**_I do not_ ** , the deity says plainly. **_But I also do not care._ ** Their hands clap together, making the demon jump. **_How are things~? Have you been successful in completing my orders?_ **Grey bristles and tries not to look nervous. 

“Well, you see--” he starts, stopping when Chaos tilts their head strangely. “--There has been...a _minor_ complication that I’ve been attempting to rectify, but I’m positive--” 

**_Grey._ ** Chaos’s voice is cold and harsh. **_Where. Is Fitzroy._ **

Grey gulps. He’s been dreading this meeting for weeks. 

“...According to local newspapers, Fitzroy is _dead_.” 

The silence that ensues is strangling. 

And then, Chaos laughs, erratic and unpleasant. Grey is used to this laugh and does his best not to cringe. Then, after a long fit of laughter, Chaos sighs and settles down; tailing curling around itself to form a nice cushion for the rest of their snake body. 

**_Oh, but he isn’t!_ ** They sing-song, **_Did you honestly believe he_ ** **was** **_?_ **Grey sighs, deeply exhausted, and settles back into his chair. He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair (absently noting the bald spot he combs over each day) and shakes his head. 

“If he were dead, I assume I would be as well,” Grey admits. “After the first hour of the news reaching the school and I _hadn’t_ been struck down by your impressive fury, I knew the boy was alive.” This is the part Grey’s been dreading: Admitting to Chaos he needs their help. The deity likes to play games with their patrons; giving cryptic responses and gliding around the subject to cause more unrest in people’s lives. But, try as he might, that slimy little bastard just _disappeared_ off the face of the planet and Grey is running out of ideas as to how to catch him and haul him back to the school. He wants his _war_ , not a petty game of cat-and-mouse. 

**_Oh,_ ** **believe** **_me, Grey, if you had failed in your mission to keep Fitzroy alive and well, I would not have hesitated in immediately obliterating your existence before bringing Fitzroy back myself!_ ** Chaos says, casually cheerful. Their threat lands in Grey’s gut and stays there--a constant reminder to the power and risk he toys with to get his wish. **_But! Enough about_ ** **that** **_, you haven’t had any luck in finding him?_ **

“No,” Grey says quietly, “he’s either gotten incredibly good at hiding in plain sight, or my scouts are getting incredibly good at being useless.” It’s that damn _clearing_ . His scouts are drawn to it, no matter what direction Grey sends them off in. They’re too stupid to realize that spot has been covered, only smelling blood and viscera and following it blindly. And _then_ , once they get there, the smell is so _overwhelming_ that they can’t follow it anywhere else. Grey clenches his jaw and balls his hand into a fist. “Not that those imps needed much _help_ in doing so,” 

**_Seems like quite the predicament!_ ** Chaos notes, smiling wickedly at Grey. **_Fitzroy’s gone, your war is put on hold yet again, and now your cover is at risk!_ ** Grey’s eyes widen at that, making Chaos’s smile grow. **_Did you not think I would know these things? I’m a_ ** **deity** **_, Grey. I know all._ **

“Y-Yes, but--” Grey huffs, rubbing at his forehead as a migraine starts to form. “I did not think you _cared_ about those sorts of things.” Chaos tilts their head curiously and waves his statement away. 

**_I never said I_ ** **cared** **_! Simply that I_ ** **know** **_!_ **Chaos rises to full height again and, as they do, their form changes. They go more humanoid, long and lanky and weirdly proportioned. Elegant robes unfurl from nowhere and cascade down to the floor, a crown made of jagged rocks forming atop their cloud of hair. Their hands are long and sharply manicured, each nail extending nearly the same length of the finger and painted a blood red. They walk around Grey’s desk and casually gesture as they speak. 

**_I’ve already re-acquainted myself with Fitzroy at his new location, and he seems quite content by this point! Though, he did treat me rather poorly when I visited, and I’m still disappointed in him for that._ ** They pout childishly for a second before shaking it off. **_Nevertheless, I am surprised it’s taken you this long! Maybe you should’ve asked for better underlings from your Father--how many bloodhounds did he allot you again? Six hundred? And you’ve already used three…_ **Chaos is teasing him. Grey knows this. But their words spark a realization that, admittedly, he should’ve had weeks ago. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Grey waves his hands to stop Chaos for a moment. “You _know_ where Fitzroy is?” Chaos stares down at him like he’s dumb. In their defense, it _is_ sort of a stupid question. 

**_Of course I know where Fitzroy is, fool, I am a_ ** **de-i-ty.** **_How many times must I spell that out for you?_ **Chaos spits back, tone suddenly harsh and deeply judgemental. Grey’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

“If you’ve known this entire time, why haven’t you said anything?” Grey asks. “I could’ve had Fitzroy back within the week if I had known sooner that you--” His words lodge in his throat as his chin is painfully lifted upwards by three nails. The pinpricks of pain are incomparable to the icy stare Chaos levels him; and, for not the first time since aligning himself with the deity, Grey fears this may be the last thing he sees. 

**_Do not tell me what I should and should not do, fool. You are lucky I even grace you with my presence and extend my hand to you in assistance. Do not mistake my guidance as mercy. Your failures still outweigh your successes, do not forget this._ **Their voice hisses inside Grey’s mind, sending chills throughout his body. After a moment, Chaos lets go of and turns away while Grey gasps for air. 

“Y-Yes, my liege,” Grey pants out, bent over his desk as he heaves. Chaos looks back at him disdainfully. “I-I am eternally grateful for your guidance, and will serve you as long as I s-shall live.” That phrase seems to do the trick in stroking Chaos’s ego, for they drop their disgusted gaze and clap cheerfully like nothing had ever happened. They sit back across from Grey and smile. 

**_Ah, it’s so nice to hear my patrons swear fealty to me~_ ** Chaos coos as Grey finally composes himself. **_Truth be told, I do pity you, Grey. Your ineptitude has not only failed you in keeping a child at school, but has also allowed those two headmasters to slip_ ** **right** **_through your fingertips!_ **The demon prince furrows his eyebrows at that. 

“What do you...mean by that last part?” he asks. Chaos laughs cruelly.

 **_I mean, you’ve failed not only_ ** **me** **_, but your own mission! The Wiggenstaffs are gone~_ **

The migraine that has been throbbing for most of their conversation spikes as Grey’s temperament snaps. He clutches the desk so hard he rips a chunk out of the mahogany; temperature rising in the room as hellfire roars in his eyes. The rippling of slate-like skin tinges blood-red as Grey struggles not to blow up. 

“They’re **_gone_ ** !?” Grey spits out. “That isn’t _possible_ . I-I have this entire fucking campus on _lockdown_ for that shriveled old bastard. I-If him and his _idiot_ brother did so much as step a _toe_ out of Higglemas’s office, _I would know_ . Not only that, but traffic in and out of campus has been _shut down_ since those three fools faked their deaths because the fucking _H.O.G._ is breathing down my neck and monitoring my every _fucking_ move. That goddamn Althea Song _knows something_ \--she’s the last one to pass through here, so--so there isn’t any _way_ for them to escape! Th-The boys had my apple! Calhain destroyed the last one and that trio had the other, but their things were at the campsite, s-so there isn’t--All that’s passed through this campus are imps and th-the fucking _birds_ , Chaos, I don’t--” Chaos squints their eyes at Grey, challenging him to challenge their authority, so Grey stops. He pants, fighting the tides of his own rage, and attempts to compose himself. “I-I apologize, Lord Chaos, I am--” 

**_You say only birds have passed through, yes?_ ** Chaos asks simply; to which Grey cautiously nods. **_Well, there’s your answer! It was the birds!_ **

“The--The birds?” Grey repeats. “Is--Did Higglemas--” 

**_Oh my Me, do I have to spell_ ** **everything** **_out for you?_ ** Chaos groans childishly. **_Higglemas turned a student into a bird--a particularly_ ** **nosy** **_student whom he felt he could trust. Fitzroy summoned the student and sent the apple back with him. Honestly, Grey, your stupidity baffles me. No wonder a dim-witted changeling managed to evade your imps. Like demon prince, like imp, as the saying goes~_ ** Grey’s eye twitches and he holds his tongue as Chaos stands and tuts petulantly at him. **_Well, you bore me, so I’m leaving._ **They turn their back towards the demon and open a rift to their domain, but Grey stops them by jumping up. 

“ _Lord Chaos_ !” He shouts, Chaos turning. Grey realizes his manners and gets to his knees, bowing deeply. “ _Please_ , give me _some_ verbal guidance so I may better serve you. N-Not even for the Wiggenstaff brothers--just in finding _Fitzroy_ . I...am a fool and an imbecile, like you have said before. I _need_ your help; now more than ever…. _Please_.” Chaos hums in contemplation for a long moment. Grey remains bent over, eyes fixed on the floor as he prays for mercy. 

**_...Hm. Well...since you asked so_ ** **nicely** **_, I’ll tell you this._ ** At their words, Grey perks up and looks to the deity. They look down, smile wide and frightening, and their nails gently graze under his chin again. **_You’ve been a headmaster for a number of decades, yes? Think back on history: new horizons have always led in this direction. Do not fail me again._ **

And, just like that, the air shifts and Chaos is gone. 

Grey sits there--still kneeling, still _reeling_ \--before fury rips through him again. He roars, hellfire now spitting from his _mouth_ as he screams over his failure. The Wiggenstaffs are _gone_ , Fitzroy is _gone_ , his war is so far away now he fears he’ll never get it. The room remains unaffected by his fire--having been charmed to maintain appearances--and simply reminds Grey of the prison he’s trapped himself inside. After a few more moments of rage, the fire dies down. Smoke billows out of the demon’s nose as he returns to his desk, setting the papers atop it on fire as he thinks over Chaos’s cryptic “help”. 

New horizons. How the hell is he supposed to understand what direction that is? 

With a deep sigh, he quickly scribbles down the riddle and shoves it in a drawer, pulling a letter out in its place. It came a few days ago and Grey has already read it, but he glances at it again regardless: 

_Grey,_

_I apologize for the delay; the seas are sometimes unreliable when it comes to letters, as I have just returned from a voyage for the Queen. I’ve seen the news, myself, and am happy to lend my image and prestige to nudge the press away from your fine institution. I shall be there within the week, if you receive this letter on time. Save me a bottle of bourbon and we can chat!_

_By the way, if the trio is not dead, then I would ask that they be found post-haste. That spray holds a grudge, like his mother. I can only watch my back for so long._

_See you soon, friend._

_Signed,_

_The Commodore, Feared and Renowned Naval General_

Grey places the letter down on his desk and grabs a bottle of bourbon from a different drawer. He takes a long swig and sighs. 

The door of the headmaster’s stays illuminated through the night and into the morning; and, when his assistants go to check on him at the start of the school day, no one is any wiser to what happened inside his office. 

A headmaster is supposed to work hard to keep the school up and running. 

And a demon prince-turned-headmaster is supposed to work harder to keep the school from finding out the truth behind that door. 

\---

Since that night on the roof, things have been...strange in the Thunderman LLC. household. For one, Fitzroy avoids Argo even _more_ , and Argo isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still mad or if he’s also thinking about how hot their breath was on each other’s face as they leaned in--so close and yet so far to a reality Argo only sees in his dreams. Argo gives Fitzroy an even wider berth because of this, embarrassment mingling with his residual guilt as he wills himself to forget that night on the roof. But he _can’t_ and it eats at him with what it all meant; if that moment was only meant to be a moment, having lived and died atop the roof, or if it means something deeper. It plagues his mind as much as the knowledge that Shebrie’s necklace isn’t with him. 

After racing down the stairs that night (nearly giving himself a concussion when he slipped) and tearing apart his room, he came to the realization that his necklace wasn’t with his things. He wouldn’t have left it in the woods with their belongings--he would’ve known if it was in his pack, would’ve felt the pull on his heart. His only hope is that it’s still at the school, in its box where it belongs, but even that hope is bittersweet. 

What good is a safe necklace in a place Argo can never return to? 

He keeps himself busy with work, plunging himself further into his new life to ignore the sins of his past. 

Besides that, things have also been strange in town since that night. Mostly because of the reason Fitzroy ran up to the roof, as Argo came to find out the next day while working. Apparently, Fitzroy had gotten upset and had an outburst of wild magic, electrocuting Jenny’s hand before running out. Fitzroy spends the next few days avoiding the gazes of the townsfolk who watch him like a hawk; and, as much as Argo wants to jump in front of them and tell them off, he can’t. 

The town doctor says Jenny suffered third degree burns across her entire hand and that she’s lucky she can still move it. She has it bandaged, with orders to not use it as the nerve-endings heal and the salve helps repair the skin. It’ll never look the same, but she’ll be able to go back to work, which is all that matters to her. 

Lyra is furious. Argo never hears her talk about it, but he feels her anger coming off her in waves. The hand that was electrocuted is Jenny’s dominant hand, meaning she can’t work at the shop (try as she might to get in there). She sits at the bar all day, groaning and moaning when Lyra fusses over her and snatches things away that could halt her healing. Jenny seems like the _only_ one who isn’t mad with Fitzroy; she says something about how it was her fault, and he was simply acting on instinct. 

Fitzroy, for his part, is deeply ashamed. That’s been another reason why the apartment has felt off. The half-elf walks around like he’s expecting an execution, and he doesn’t use any magic (not even to summon Slithers). With Jenny out of commission, he spends more time at the shop, working on projects she had yet to finish while also working on his own. He gets home, exhausted, and eats in silence. Then, he goes to bed without a word. 

That changes after a few days, when Sheriff Jasper pays a visit to their apartment. 

Fitzroy is terrified, assuming the worst as he walks outside with Jasper to talk. Argo, consumed by curiosity, stealthily creeps to the front door and opens it just enough to see what’s going on.

“Yer not in any trouble, so why don’tcha relax so we can have a lil’ chat, aight?” The sheriff says calmly, Fitzroy sighing and nodding. 

They talk for a few minutes, and from what Argo hears his friend _isn’t_ about to be arrested, as Jenny didn’t press any charges. 

“She says it’s her fault you wigged out, an’ I’m inclined to agree if she’s the injured party,” Jasper explains, not noticing the way Fitzroy’s body _fully_ relaxes at that. Argo heaves a sigh of relief as well. The sheriff goes on to explain that he’s here merely as a mediator--sent by Jenny to settle the unease within the town. Jenny’s a beloved figure amongst the community, and she’s well-aware of this. She doesn’t want this slip-up to be a mark on Fitzroy’s character because she knows he’s better. The sheriff advises Fitzroy to simply stop by the bar during busy hours and make an apology loud enough for the folks around him to hear, and gossip will spread the good word and fix his mistake. 

“And what about Lyra?” Fitzroy asks, nervously rubbing the back of his head. “I passed by her in the general store yesterday and her stare coulda killed me, if stares were lethal. W-Will this...placate her?” 

“Oh, Lyra? Nah, she’s gonna be pretty mad at ya for a while,” Jasper says with a laugh. “You leave that whole mess to Jenny; she’s pretty good at bringing her back down to Nua.” 

Argo slips back to the living room as their conversation concludes, and he’s pleased to see Fitzroy walk with a different air when he re-enters. That night, Argo smells wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, and he awakens to a number of sweets arranged in a beautiful basket. Fitzroy goes to work with the basket; and, when Argo’s working later on that night, he sees the half-elf come in with it. He presents the basket to Jenny, along with a genuine, heartfelt apology that Jenny accepts immediately. They hug it out, and goodies are passed out to a few of the patrons that crowd the bar. Even Lyra takes a lemon bar, not quite forgiving but no longer furious. By the end of the night, Fitzroy’s reputation is on the up-and-up and things return to some semblance of normalcy. 

Well, as normal as living a double life in a small Western town can get. 

\---

Because of Jenny’s injured hand, Lyra spends more time watching and helping her wife with menial tasks. She also has to constantly chase Jenny down and pull her away from her beloved shop, which Jenny is not willing to do. As such, Argo often gets left alone to staff the entire bar for most of the day; Lyra only returning when her wife is safe in her arms and ready to go cuddle upstairs in their apartment. Argo doesn’t mind this one bit; he’s gotten used to how the bar works, and the regulars love him just as much as they do the owners. He spends his days whistling sea shanties as he wipes down the bar, chatting with people as they come and chatting with himself when the rush is slow. 

Nikolai and Zephyr start taking their lunches inside of the bar because of this, having befriended Argo in the weeks they’ve come to know him. Argo can expect the twins around 2 PM each day, Nikolai bounding over to the bar to crush Argo in a hug as Zephyr calmly approaches and sits down. They talk about anything; about the sea, about their lives (as much as Argo _can_ say), about art. 

Today, they talk about Wyatt. 

Or, _Nikolai_ talks about Wyatt. 

“You meet Wyatt yet, Aaron?” They ask, the name making Zephyr blush and quickly return to his sandwich. Argo looks over at the tiefling curiously; they’re grinning mischievously, but something tells him it isn’t directed _at_ him. 

“No, I can’t say that I have!” Argo replies. “Why? He knew around here?” 

“Oh, no, unfortunately your trio remains the newbies of our sweet town,” Nikolai clarifies, grabbing a chip off their plate and tossing it into their mouth. “Wyatt actually was here before _we_ were, but he’s not a native resident.” They elbow their brother, turning and giving him a smirk. “Right, bro?” Zephyr rolls his eyes but nods, face still lightly flushed. 

“Huh,” is all Argo has to say, not quite sure where this conversation is going. “Well, I have yet to meet the fella!” 

“That’d make sense; he just got back from an extended trip out of town,” Nikolai says, continually throwing glances over to their brother. Argo starts to get a feeling they had a reason for bringing this up that has nothing to do with him. “I’m sure if you asked Roy he’d know, though.” For some reason, the wording of that sentence makes something deep within Argo twist painfully. He ignores it, cleaning a glass idly to give his hands something to do. 

“That so…” Argo trails off. 

“Yeah! He’s Jenny’s original assistant, after all!” Oh, okay. That...It makes sense why Fitzroy would know him, then. They’re coworkers. 

Why did Argo assume it was something different? 

“Roy never told me about him,” Argo notes, setting the glass down and picking up another. “‘S he a good dude?” That seems to be about the response Nikolai wanted because they’re practically _beaming_ , bouncing up and down on their stool as they giggle into their hand. 

“I dunno? _Is_ Wyatt a ‘good dude’, bro?” Nikolai asks, voice laced with sarcasm as they lean closer to their brother. Zephyr buries his face into one hand as he shoves his sibling away with the other. 

“Do we _have_ to do this right now, Nikki?” Zephyr groans, voice muffled by his hand. Nikolai giggles, letting themself be shoved only to lean in further. Zephyr pushes them again, starting this sort of pendulum motion as he says, “ _Yeah_ , Wyatt’s a...a cool dude…” 

“Okaaay…” Argo drawls out, watching this display and feeling entirely out of the loop. “That’s...good..? Is there anything else I need to, uh... _know_ about this Wyatt fella, or--” 

“ _Zephyr's in love with hi_ \--” Nikolai is cut off by Zephyr slapping a hand over their mouth, face now entirely flushed as they grab the back of Nikolai’s head so they can’t pry his hand off. 

“-- _Please_ shut up for _once_ .” Zephyr says over his sibling, yelping and pulling his hand back after a second. “OW! Did you just fucking _bite_ me, you goddamn rat--” 

“--Zephyr is in love with Wyatt!” Nikolai yells, cutting off their brother. Thankfully, they’re the only three in the bar right now, so no one else is privy to this outburst. Argo stares back with more questions than answers. 

“I...okay?” Argo replies, looking at Zephyr (who looks up at the heavens, wishing for death). “Good for you…?” 

“Can we talk about _anything_ else?” Zephyr pleads to the air, still not looking at his sibling (who’s howling with laughter) or Argo. “The weather? Space? I’ll talk about my latest fucking _doctor’s appointment_ if it means we can change the subject.” Nikolai laughs harder, falling off their stool and rolling on the ground in hysterics. “Is this my punishment from the gods? To sit here, in this moment, and have this conversation? Dear gods, please end it all if that’s the case because I can’t fucking handle it.” 

“Now hold on, there,” Argo chimes in, hand out placatingly. “Y’don’t need to go wishin’ for death right now. We can drop the subject, if you’d like.” Finally, Zephyr looks at Argo, and though he’s smiling it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I wish it was that simple…” Zephyr responds cryptically, just as Nikolai rights themself back on the stool. They’re still wheezing, but they seem to have calmed down enough to talk again. 

“Oh _no_ , we are _not_ dropping this subject, my friend,” Nikolai explains, much to Zephyr’s dismay. “You see, I have been hearing _nothing_ but dramatic whining from _this_ fuck ever since Wyatt got back, and if _I_ gotta suffer with it then so do _you_.” Zephyr groans again--the most vocal he’s been since Argo has met him--and thunks his head against the bar. Argo snorts at the display. 

“Okay? As long as Zephyr’s comfortable,” Argo concedes to whatever journey the twins are about to take him on.

“He _isn’t_ , but that’s not what matters,” Nikolai quickly clarifies, slapping their brother on the back. “What matters is he’s a disaster and there’s only room in our parlor for _one_ of those, and that title has already been taken by moi.” Argo laughs as Zephyr blindly reaches out to punch Nikolai in the arm, who also laughs it off. Argo figures he’s going to have to take the plunge in getting this conversation over as quickly and painlessly (for Zephyr’s sake), so he starts by asking: 

“So, uh, are you two like...dating? Orrr,” Nikolai cackles, which is answer enough. “Ah, so I’m takin’ that’s a no, huh.” 

“Abso _lu_ tely not!” Nikolai sing-songs. Zephyr seems resigned to stay face-planted on the bartop, letting the conversation happen without him. “Though, he’s had _plenty_ of times to ask! He just! Doesn’t! Because he’s a mess!” 

“Because he’s _not interested_ ,” Zephyr’s voice comes out of the counter. Nikolai scoffs and rolls their eyes. 

“Bro, _you_ have to show interest _first_ or else he’ll always just think of you as a friend!” 

“But if he’s not _interested_ , then what’s the point in bringing it up? I’m just going to make him uncomfortable and then we won’t even be _friends_.” 

“Well, you won’t _know that_ unless you _try_ , dipshit!” 

“ _Well_ , I don’t want to _risk it_ if it means losing someone I care deeply for, _asshole_!” 

“So then stop _fucking moping_ \--” 

“--So then stop _bringing it up_!” 

“ _Ooookay_ !” Argo calls out, loud enough to stop the sibling spitfire showdown from spiraling further. The two look at him--Zephyr picking his head up off the counter. Argo holds himself like a stern parent, remembering the skills his mother used to use to keep tensions at bay while on the sea. It’s important to show no weakness, but not to be too overbearing. Like a real captain should be. “It’s obvious this topic is striking a nerve, an’ I think we should talk that out before I have to throw you both out for th’day. Which I _will_ do if this bickering continues, so Zephyr,” he turns to the taller tiefling, “state your case. And then Nikolai will state theirs. And then we will _stop_ having this stupid conversation because yer lunch break ends in, like, ten minutes? And I know you have to touch up Mr. Paulsen’s sleeve today, Nik, so y’can’t be late.” The twins surrender, Nikolai looking less than pleased but turning and allowing their brother room to speak. And, flustered as he is, he _does_ speak. 

“I-It’s just I...I met Wyatt a long time ago, when we had yet to move in but were looking into the area. We were both at this artist’s festival, and he’s _cute_ and I’m a sucker for blondes and kinda screwed myself over by spending the whole weekend at his tent. And he told me he lives _here_ , and I just...convinced Nik to follow him and set up shop here. Which has been fine, but I guess it can be frustrating because business is sparse and we definitely _could’ve_ been more successful in another town, but I...I don’t know, man. I-I think I might be in love with him? But he doesn’t really notice that or see me in that way,” his gaze has been wistful, but as he plunges into the rest of his explanation he looks slightly more irritated. “And, to make matters _worse_ , he’s got the hots for that--for _Roy_ , and it’s _alllll_ he ever talks about.” Argo’s head perks up at that. 

“He is?” Argo asks, to which Zephyr nods curtly. 

“We play cards most nights at his house, and since he’s gotten back _all_ he can talk about is the ‘hot new guy’ at work and how he’s convinced he’s gonna get some office romance out of this whole situation. Which, like--I know he’s your friend, but Roy is just a _guy_ , y’know! What does he have that I don’t!? Big, bulging muscles? Stubble? I-I could grow out facial hair if I _wanted_ to, and my muscles are big enough! Is it that I’m covered in ink and he’s not? I just don’t...I don’t get it, man! And so I...I _guess_ I’ve been ranting about it too much at the shop, so I’m sorry Nikki, but I. I love him, and it just _sucks_ to see him happier with someone else.” Zephyr deflates entirely after his explanation, looking down at his feet as he fiddles with the ends of his hair. Nikolai looks at him sadly and pats him on the back. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Zeph. I...I didn’t realize you _love_ loved him…” Nikolai admits softly. Zephyr smiles bittersweetly to himself. 

“I realized just now, don’t worry,” Zephyr replies. Argo wants to reach out and comfort his friend, but several things stop him. The dumbest of those things being this Wyatt’s interest in Fitzroy. 

“Y-Yeah, but, you don’t know how Roy feels, right?” Argo chimes in, wringing his rag over and over subconsciously. “H-He hasn’t...said anything to you? Or to Wyatt?” He doesn’t know why he cares that much. Or, okay, he _does_ know why he cares a _little bit_ ; but he doesn’t know why the very thought of Fitzroy being interested in someone makes him feel so panicked. Nikolai looks at him strangely for a long moment until something clicks. 

“Oh my gods, _you’re in love with Roy_!” Nikolai exclaims, pointing at Argo. Argo’s heart lurches into his throat at the sound of That Word and he feels that panic build. He tries to be casual about it, making a strangled noise that was supposed to come out as a guffaw. 

“W-Wha-? I-- _No_ , yer, uh--That’s now what I--I’m not in l-lo--I don’t think about Roy that way!” Okay, Argo, not your best moment of roguehood. Nikolai stares at him, unimpressed, but Argo doesn’t crack. 

“Buddy. Pal. It’s okay! You’re in good company!” Nikolai says. They throw an arm around their brother and pull him close. “This is Lovestruck Idiot Central! You can talk about it!” 

“Th-That’s not--But I _don’t_ , is the thing,” Argo insists. The air feels sticky and--did the air conditioning turn off? Who turned on the heat? Is something on fire--why is it so _hot_?! Nikolai rolls their eyes and opens their mouth to say something, but is cut off by an incessant beeping. They sigh, looking down at their watch to silence it. 

“Well, looks like you’re being saved by the bell, as I do not wanna piss of Mr. Paulsen.” Nikolai says, stepping off their stool. Zephyr follows suit, looking equally as relieved as Argo to be done with this. He moves to leave, but Nikolai stays put, pointing at Argo again and saying, “ _But_ . I will be back tomorrow, and this conversation is _nooooowhere_ from being over, buddy.” They’re as joking as they are serious, and they continue to stare Argo down as they walk backwards out of the bar. 

When he’s alone, Argo sags against the counter, feeling suddenly pretty weak in the knees. He goes about the rest of his day with business as usual, but his mind is buzzing with that question: _Is_ he in love with Fitzroy? 

No, there’s no way. Crush, definitely. But love? 

Argo sees Jenny and Lyra come in right around closing, smiling at each other and holding each other close. His heart throbs painfully and he turns away. 

It’s not love. There’s no way. 

\---

Life post-rooftop has been weird for Fitzroy, but he’s doing his best to ignore it both physically and emotionally. 

He spends most of that night lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing any thought or impression or memory of the genasi out of his mind. He blames it on the alcohol--that pesky beverage. He hides his flask because of this, and definitely _not_ because the sight of it looking so pristine and knowing _why_ makes his innards burn like he’d just taken a swig from it. Argo does an excellent job in never bringing it up again, so Fitzroy can hate him a little less for that. Sure, sometimes they end up in the living room alone and suddenly _all_ Fitzroy can think about is how Argo’s scales look from close up and then Fitzroy has to _leave_ so impulse doesn’t override rational thought, but other than that it’s...it’s fine. 

What he feels exponentially _worse_ about is the situation with Jenny. 

Sure, he apologized and she accepted it. The town no longer hates him and hides their children away when he walks to work, but he still feels like an outcast. He thinks about how the centaurs must have felt after he ripped Calhain’s hand off; how all of them bent to his will because they feared for their lives, and he feels sick to his stomach when he draws comparisons. He _injured_ Jenny--the woman who has been nothing but kind and supportive to him and his friends. He scarred her-- _literally_ \--along with the rest of the town. Nobody will ever truly forget; least of all Lyra, who still shoots the occasional glare his way whenever they’re in proximity of each other. 

He lets his work distract him. He spends longer days in the workshop, carving and cutting and drilling until he can no longer feel his hands. Wyatt stays with him most of the time, having basically become Fitzroy’s assistant (since Jenny has doctor’s orders to not even touch a _chisel_ ). Wyatt’s a hard worker, diligent and thorough, and Fitzroy comes to appreciate his presence in this way. 

_Only_ in this way. He still has to roll his eyes when he catches the guy staring at him. He knows he’s attractive but _goddamn_ , it’s like he’s never seen a man before. 

Still, they get along. They talk very briefly, but when they do it’s always light and casual. Wyatt’s kind and quiet, reminding Fitzroy of the Firbolg in many ways. 

Speaking of, he still works, but most days he clocks out pretty early, since his tasks are very menial. He spends a lot more time keeping Jenny busy, taking her to the gardens where they talk for hours on-end. 

Today is one of those days, as Fitzroy and Wyatt have to take a journey to the next town over for Jenny. 

“It’s easy,” Jenny said that morning, handing a packet of papers to Wyatt. “I got a seller who sells my pieces to a larger market, and he just needs this supply of sculptures and furniture for the market today. Bring it to him, collect the pay from last shipment, and head on back!” 

Luckily, Fitzroy has a lot of experience driving caravans, as he quickly learns Wyatt does not. He takes the reins, Wyatt sitting beside him, and they set off before noon. Traveling in the desert is basically a race against the sun, and Jenny said the trip there should take only about an hour both ways. So, if they play their cards right, they should be back before 3 PM--when the sun is at its most unbearable. 

The beginning of the ride is fairly quiet, as both men stare blankly on the endless horizon. They ride on the only road (a generous name for the flattened dirt under their feet, really) out of Dust Field, passing by the train station. 

“Why is Dust Field so far from the station?” Fitzroy finally speaks up, startling Wyatt out of his daze. “If you’re gonna make a town, wouldn’t it be better t’have the only way out be closer?” Wyatt shrugs. 

“I mean, I’m not an expert on Dust Field history, but I think the town came before the train.” Wyatt replies, causing Fitzroy to frown. 

“How’d the people get out here if there was no train?” 

“I dunno, walk, I guess?” Wyatt rubs the back of his neck and laughs nervously. “I mean, _you_ walked to Dust Field, didn’t you? Why didn’t _you_ take the train?” The question is casual, but it makes Fitzroy bristle all the same. He doesn’t like talking about what happened before he got here; gradually distancing himself like he’s had to do before. 

“Came from the other way,” Fitzroy replies simply, tone very clearly dictating he wasn’t going to be expanding upon that topic. Wyatt falls silent, looking out at the dirt and nothingness around them. 

“I actually grew up in the town we’re headin’ to,” Wyatt says quietly, in an attempt to remedy the situation. Fitzroy looks at him with a quirked brow, urging him to continue. “Y-Yeah! I grew up in Meadowbrook. My family is still there--well, my _immediate_ family, at least.” 

“Huh,” Fitzroy responds, nodding to himself. “Meadowbrook a nice place?” 

“I guess, dependin’ on who you ask. My family likes it plenty--i-it’s why they live there, but they’re...I dunno. My family’s a little weird…” Wyatt seems uncomfortable talking about his family, but he presses forward anyway. “The town can be weird, too. They’re quite a bit bigger than Dust Field--actually, I don’t know if you realized this, but there’s no school in Dust Field because the population is so small.” Fitzroy thinks back on Dust Field, recalling each of the buildings, and realizes Wyatt is right. 

“Well, where do the kids go to school, then? Is everyone just...just _homeschooled_?” He doesn’t think the type of people who live in Dust Field would be the best teachers. Don’t get him wrong, he grew up in a fairly small town, too. But they at least had a small schoolhouse for the lower grades, before Fitzroy had to travel thirty minutes on horse to go to the district high school. Wyatt laughs and shakes his head. 

“For the younger years, yeah. As far as the parent can teach ‘em, and then they take them to the boarding school in Meadowbrook. The school gives them lodging for the year--sends them home on holidays and stuff--and then they go back home for the summer. That’s why the kids you see running around town are all super young; they can still be homeschooled, so they don’t need to live at the boarding school.” Wyatt recalls this all like it’s been ingrained in his memory, and when Fitzroy glances at him he can see how fondly he speaks of Dust Field in comparison to Meadowbrook. 

“Did you...go to the boarding school?” Fitzroy asks, to which Wyatt shakes his head. 

“I actually went to trade school! Th-That’s where I learned all the, uh, the woodworking stuff,” Wyatt explains. “I-It’s probably why I never felt really...connected? To people in my town? Because I was always, uh, out of it! My grandfather lived in the city, and he’d let me live with him during the school year so I could go to this _really_ nice trade school. A-And then, when I graduated, I came back home! And then...I came to Dust Field.” Fitzroy nods. 

“I, uh, take it Meadowbrook was never for you, huh?” Fitzroy says with a knowing look. Wyatt blushes and lets out a loud, pained laugh, before realizing Fitzroy is serious. He looks away, but Fitzroy can tell he nods. 

“People in Meadowbrook are... _mean_ . That boarding school is hell for the kids of Dust Field--I’ve heard horror stories of how the Meadow kids treat them. They just think they’re _better_ than everybody, an-and for someone like _me_ …” He looks back at Fitzroy, gesturing to himself in a very “hi I’m a homosexual” way, which makes Fitzroy snort. “It just wasn’t the right fit. Dust Field is small, but...it’s nice. You’ve lived there for long enough to know what I mean. Everyone there just--just takes you at _you_ . They don’t ask questions, they don’t pry if you don’t want, and they just...they love! Unapologetically, honestly, _truly_ love you with every fiber of their being. And I...I just love love, y’know?” His smile is soft and, for once, it’s not directly pointed at Fitzroy. Try as the half-elf might to avoid the thought, he can admit the town is quite...homey. 

“I get that,” Fitzroy says simply, a smile of his own on his face. The two lapse into silence again, until Fitzroy thinks of something else. “So, how’d you meet Jenny? I’m assumin’ she’s the reason you came to Dust Field?” 

“Got it in one!” Wyatt replies with a chuckle. “Yeah, I met Jenny a few years ago at a woodworker’s expo. She did this _huge_ workshop on woodcarving--which is my specialty, by the way--and I was just... _transfixed_ by the way she works. How easily the art seems to flow out of the wood when it’s in her hands, how her focus can laser in until it’s done to _her_ standards. I hung around after the workshop to try and talk to her, and she ended up finding me first!” Suddenly, he fishes a little wooden statue out of his pocket and shows it to Fitzroy. It’s worn--definitely old--and looks to resemble a fish jumping out of the water. 

“She saw this in my hands and asked if I made it, and I obviously said yes b-because I _did_ . And _on the spot_ she asks if I wanna work with her in Dust Field!” He laughs in disbelief at his own story, pocketing the statue and shaking his head fondly. “She’s always been that impulsive--later, she told me that I just had a...a _feeling_ about me that made her know I’d be a good partner. I said yes, we hashed things out, and I moved out within the month. A-And now I always keep this statue on me, for good luck…” He pats his pocket gently, like it’s a small animal. 

“Sounds like you’ve really found your purpose in Dust Field,” Fitzroy mentions with an amused smile. 

“Yeah,” Wyatt replies simply, before turning to Fitzroy again. He stares at him for a moment--long enough that Fitzroy is about to ask if something’s on his face, before he continues, “You know... _you_ can too, right?” Fitzroy bristles, clutching the reins a little tighter as he avoids the blonde’s gaze.

“I don’t know what ya mean, but _okay_ ,” Fitzroy says, voice clipped. He doesn’t want to talk about this--not in general, not with him, not with _anybody_. He feels that familiar grip of paranoia that Wyatt knows more than he’s letting on, and he tries to keep himself calm. If he lets his magic go out of control again he’ll never forgive himself. Wyatt doesn’t notice this and presses on. 

“I’m just saying that Dust Field is...it’s a special place, I think.” Wyatt admits, his voice small and genuine. “I’ve seen so many people walk through this town, a-and they don’t see it because they aren’t here long enough. B-But you’ve _been_ here, Roy, y-you’ve _felt_ it. Even if it’s just--even if it didn’t feel like much, this town is _special_ . I don’t believe much in the gods or of fate, but what I _do_ believe is that this place...Dust Field exists for people to _find_ . Not just to discover the town, b-but to find something within _themselves_ o-or in another person. A-And so, if you want, you can...you have space for finding, Roy. Even if you don’t--don’t think so, it’s okay to let your guard down and find--” His words are cut off by the sudden jostling of the caravan as Fitzroy pulls it to a sudden stop. Wyatt looks as Fitzroy turns, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched. 

“Wyatt, do me a favor and _never_ assume anything about me ever again.” Fitzroy’s voice comes out cold, making Wyatt freeze. “You don’t know a fucking _thing_ about me, alright? What I’m here for is my business and my business alone, and I don’t need you telling what I _need_ to be doing. For all I care, I could leave _tomorrow_ and never come back without even a second thought. So don’t sit here and preach to me about self-discovery because I’ve done a damn well amount of that already, and I’m content with where I’m at. Alright?” He doesn’t wait for a response before urging the horses forward again. “Alright.” 

The rest of the ride is silent, and if Fitzroy feels bad he doesn’t show it. 

\---

Entering Meadowbrook is leagues different than when Fitzroy entered Dust Field. 

For one, he’s in a caravan that he actually rides _through_ the town on _real_ cobblestone streets. The second thing is that they’re not being stared at like they committed a cardinal sin by entering the town; not a single person pays the caravan any mind as Wyatt directs him to the market. Third, this place is a _lot_ bigger, meaning there is more than just one road that cuts through the whole place. There are side streets and walkways for pedestrians--there’s even a place for caravans to park! 

But Wyatt is correct in his judgement of how the place _acts_. Fitzroy feels eyes on him as he exits the caravan, watching him from afar as he unloads a few art pieces and brings them into the market. He brushes them off and focuses on his task, trying to get this done as quickly as possible before he blows up in someone’s face about the rudeness of staring. 

The market is busy in the morning, and people brush past the two as they approach the merchant in-question. He’s a stout dwarf with a long beard and a bushy mustache. He smiles at the two as they approach and reaches for some of their stuff. 

“Allow me!” he says, taking a piece from Wyatt and setting it up in front of his stand. As they set everything up for market, Fitzroy learns the identity of this dwarf. He’s a friend of Jenny’s that she met at that same woodworking expo she met Wyatt at. His name is Orlon Gruntinger, he has a wife and seven children, and he _loves_ wood. 

“Reminds me of my _own_ village, before I came allll the way out here to start a family!” Orlon states, taking a big whiff of a rocking chair before setting it down. “It’s why I started a carpentry shop of my own, and why I work with Jenny to share her art with the greater public!” 

Within thirty minutes, they have all the pieces for sale out of the caravan and at Orlon’s stand. Orlon offers for them to stay a bit to have breakfast, but Fitzroy is quick to refuse. He’d rather just get home and put some distance between himself and Wyatt before he finally apologizes for blowing up in his face.

“Well, alright!” Orlon says, a little disappointed, turning to his stand to fish through his bag. “Lemme just find Jenny’s cut of last week's sales and you’re on your wa--” 

A scream cuts through the air of the market, and all eyes fixate on its center. 

Fitzroy has heard about the bandits a few times, mostly in passing by Sheriff Jasper or in long-winded stories of patrons at Bustin’s Bar, but he never thought he’d _see_ them. 

A group of them crowd the center of the market (seven of them, if Fitzroy’s counting correctly), dressed identically in all black. The only signifiers between each of the bandit members are the bandanas they wear to cover most of their faces. They’re holding a random woman at knifepoint, members fanning out and intimidating anyone from running. 

“Alright, let’s make this quick,” the bandit holding the woman calls out, sounding uncharacteristically bored. “Everyone put your valuables in the bags, or I kill this woman and anyone else who gets in our way.” The bandits descend upon a few shop owners, pushing and shoving them to open their registers and give them all the gold. Fitzroy looks to his left and sees Orlon frozen in fear, hands still stuck in his bag. A bandit--a dragonborn, by the looks of it--approaches them. 

“Hand it over, old man,” the dragonborn says, their voice gruff. Orlon remains petrified and the dragonborn shoves him. “You hear me, fuckhead!? Put the shit in the bag!” 

“I-I--” Orlon whimpers, tears streaming down his face. “ _Please_ , my youngest is sick, I-I _need_ this--” 

“--You sayin’ _no_ , old man?” The dragonborn pulls out a knife, getting dangerously close to Orlon’s throat. “If you don’t do it, I’ll gut you open like a fucking fish and make either of these two dipshits do it for me.” Orlon still can’t move and Fitzroy hears him mutter a prayer, and then he snaps. 

“ _Back off_ ,” Fitzroy steps in front of Orlon, stature tall and defiant, making the dragonborn take a step back. They’re a few inches taller, but Fitzroy is broader. The bandit huffs and turns around. 

“Boss? We got a dissenter he--” Their sentence is cut short as Fitzroy slams a chair into their back, immediately knocking the dragonborn unconscious. The ruckus draws the attention of the other six, who stare at their fallen compatriot in shock. Their leader, a human with a lime green bandana, looks directly at Fitzroy. Fitzroy stares back, stepping over the dragonborn with a threatening aura. 

“Why don’t y’all go ahead and get out of here?” Fitzroy calls out to the leader, cracking his knuckles as he does so. “Before somebody else gets hurt.” The leader looks at him for a moment and then laughs, grating and loud. The other bandits turn away from the bystanders (Fitzroy’s plan, which worked) and begin closing in around him. 

“Oh, _I_ see...New kid’s got a savior complex! Great!” The leader says, pushing the woman away as they brandish a knife. “I _love_ killing guys like you,” 

The other bandits move just as Fitzroy casts Thunderwave, sending everyone flying back. The stands are far enough away that only two bandits actually slam into them, and one of them is knocked unconscious from it. The others are quick to jump up and run into action, a bandit with a red bandana slashing at Fitzroy with her knife. He dodges out of the way, grabbing her by the arm and casting Shocking Grasp, which incapacitates her. Then, just for added flavor, Fitzroy goes into a rage. 

The leader watches this, panicked, and shouts for their other lackeys to strike. Two bandits rush him--one of them an orc, the other the elf that slammed into a stand and got up again--weapons drawn. Fitzroy ducks just as the orc approaches him, the orc’s swing throwing him off-kilter and allowing Fitzroy to body him to the ground. Fitzroy takes his weapon--a heavy steel bar--and swings at the elf, cracking it right across his skull. The elf goes out cold, blood trickling on the stone, definitely concussed. Fitzroy watches the leader look around the market at their fallen compatriots. They look scared--Fitzroy’s rage-encumbered mind notes. _Good_. 

Suddenly, Fitzroy’s legs are swept from under him and he falls to the ground, spinning himself around in time to avoid an attack from the orc bandit. He swings again with another steel bar and Fitzroy deflects, but isn’t able to get himself up before the orc kicks him in the side. He hears a crack as he cries out in pain--not as severe as it might feel if he was out of a rage. 

Yep, that was definitely a rib. 

He tries to recover for a moment, but the orc’s attacks are relentless. He dodges a few blows before getting hit again, and he rolls to his knees in an attempt to right himself. The orc takes the opportunity to swing, but his hit never makes contact with Fitzroy. Fitzroy notices this and turns, seeing a faint blue barrier between himself and the orc. He follows the source of magic to Wyatt, wand drawn and face terrified. 

Oh, guess he’s a carpenter _and_ a wizard. 

He smiles at Wyatt and flashes him a thumbs-up before standing to full height, using the opportunity given to him to strike the orc with a Shocking Grasp-enhanced swing of his metal bar. The orc cries out, flying across the market and landing, unconscious, on the other side of the circle. Fitzroy turns back to the leader, only to find they’ve moved. 

Fitzroy turns just as the leader and the remaining bandit run off, bags of loot abandoned in their haste. 

Fitzroy huffs as he stands in the center of the market, not quite ready to take himself out of his rage to feel the brunt of his injury. Then, he realizes what he’s just done, and fear grips his lungs. 

Just like the bar, Fitzroy’s gone too far. He used too much magic--did too much damage--and now people know the true extent of his power. They’re going to fear him, just like at the bar. Just like at the centaur camp. 

Just like at Clyde Nite’s. 

Only, when he looks around the group, he doesn’t _see_ fear. Sure, they’re a little scared, but it’s not directed at _him_. Stand owners and pedestrians shake themselves off and check in on each other, and then...they do the _strangest_ thing. 

They clap for Fitzroy. 

Cheers ring out as people approach him, thankful beyond words and reaching out to shake his hand. Even in his rage, people _want_ to approach him, to show their gratitude for his courage. 

“You’re our savior!” A person cries out. Fitzroy stands, shellshocked, as the whole market begins to cheer.

And Fitzroy, feeling the full force of both pain _and_ pride as he leaves his rage, smiles. 

\---

It’s the early afternoon, and Argo’s wiping down the bar counter, chatting idly with Jenny and Lyra as the day stretches on lazily. It’s a Wednesday, so things are pretty slow; and since Fitzroy and Wyatt went to the next town to move supply to market, there isn’t anyone for Jenny to harass into letting her in the shop. So, they all sit and enjoy the slowness of the day, Lyra and Jenny cuddled up as Argo ignores the lingering thoughts of Nikolai's words. 

Then, the front doors slam open, and Sheriff Jasper spurs the day into life. 

“Y’all gotta head over to the barn!” He cries out, immediately making the women stand. 

“Wh-Why?” Lyra says, panicked, assuming the worst. 

“Is it the boys?” Jenny asks, concern lacing her words.

“Yeah, but it ain’t a bad thing!” Jasper clarifies, which calms the couple down. Argo, though, still is concerned. 

“The hell happened?” He asks, Jasper looking to him with a wild grin. 

“Sheriff’s department of Meadowbrook just gave me a call. Said the bandits came to market,” Jenny curses under her breath, “but it’s okay! Roy jumped in front of everybody and took, like, five of their guys down! He’s a goddamn hero!” That surprises Argo, but not for the reason it surprises the other two. “Roy had to be healed a bit ‘cause one’a them fractured a couple'a ribs, but they should be arriving in town in a few minutes! C’mon, I got the whole town at the barn waiting for ‘em! We’re gonna give that boy a hero’s welcome, like Dustin Scritchfield woulda wanted!” And then, Sheriff Jasper takes off running down the road, leaving the three alone again. 

A beat. 

“Well, _you_ heard the man!” Jenny exclaims with a wide smile. “Let’s get the hell over there!” 

The barn sits at the very end of town, behind the greenhouse. It’s a massive barn, containing all of the town’s cattle and a few of the residents' horses. They clear the barn out for big events like holiday dances and harvest celebrations, and the road leading out of Dust Field is next to it. 

When the three of them get there, the whole town is already waiting. They get there just in time--Fitzroy and Wyatt are stepping out the caravan to rambunctious applause--and Jenny sprints through the crowd. Argo watches as the woman crushes them in a hug, and after a few moments he can see her body shake with tears. Fitzroy laughs and pats her back. Lyra and Argo push closer as Jenny parts from the pair, letting others slap them on the back or give Fitzroy a handshake. 

From this close, Argo can feel the joy radiating off of Fitzroy. This is his dream, after all, to protect and serve people in any way he can. The code of the knighthood has always been important to him--even if he bends his morals quite a bit when he’s endangered--and it’s clear this kind of praise is both overwhelming and amazing to the barbarian. The shorter man next to him (Wyatt, Argo assumes) seems just as excited, even if he isn’t the focal point. Fitzroy can barely move forward because of the amount of people, and Argo opens his mouth to call for him. 

But, before he can do so, Fitzroy turns and Argo sees--not for the first time, nor the last--how _beautiful_ he is. 

The sun shines on his skin and seems to make him glow. His hair, mussed from the fight and long from his time here, looks the softest it’s ever looked. Argo’s hands itch to touch it, to reach out and card a hand through it as Fitzroy’s head lays in his lap. Fitzroy’s eyes--two sapphires aglow--are looking away from him, but they still make him weak in the knees. And his _smile_ ; that perfect smile, showing off his pointed canines, shines in the glory of the day. 

He’s smiling _that_ smile. The one that makes Argo’s heart do incredible things and makes his head feel light and airy. The smile that Argo thought was only for _him_ to see--the smile of secret lives and late-night haircuts and sopping wet moments long gone. 

But Fitzroy is looking away from him. And, in that moment, Argo comes to two terrible realizations at the exact same time. 

The first: He’s in love, and so is Fitzroy. 

The second: He loves Fitzroy, and Fitzroy loves another. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argo suffocates in newfound feelings. Fitzroy passes out in the middle of the desert. 
> 
> In three places at the exact same time, a direction is settled upon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hm.....okay. so it's been over a month. sorry! uh, lots of stuff happened in that time, including some Very Bad Emotional Stuff That I Will Not Mention! also school. school is a lot online! and i am always stressed. but, i banged out four essays (five if you count me redoing one for a final draft) and i decided to treat myself with: more writing! hooray! 
> 
> i hope no one thought this work was being abandoned because i'm too deep in it to back out now. i will finish this damb fic come hell or high water. also, this is officially novel-length so!!! that's cool ig 
> 
> anyways, fanart shout-outs! tag me on tumblr @fitzroythecreator if you want your art shouted out (or just be one of my friends, in which case i'll see it anyway gjhrbhjgbjhrg) 
> 
> first artist i wanna shout out is izel (@mcnuggy) for their [ epic trio art!](https://mcnuggyy.tumblr.com/post/627916526634352640/oh-god-oh-fuck-you-wanna-read-ssoss-so-bad)!!! i have no idea if you're even caught up, buddy, but when you are just know i am giving u a gentle kiss bc you're epic <3 
> 
> next up, van (@vanitedraws) for their [FUCKING CRAZY COOL ACTION SHOT OF CHAPTER 4 (and bust shot of fitzroy)](https://vanitedraws.tumblr.com/post/628077391001075712/drew-a-very-exciting-scene-plus-cowboy-fitzroy)!!!! BRO!!!! HOW EPIC!!! YOU'RE SWAG AND I LOVE YOU!!!! 
> 
> finally, last and MOST DEFINITELY not least, matthew motherfucking patthew (@accesscodex) for [so.](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/627853573778210816/you-know-the-drill-by-now-read-ssoss) [many.](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/627925375025020928/dumb-bitch-stop-pining) [pieces.](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/627935875311009792/dear-jesus-christ-please-help-me) [of.](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/627966034091048960/reread-ssoss-you-should-read-it-too-if-you) [art.](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/629392631370334208/im-bad-at-keeping-my-emotions-bubbledyoure-good) you whore. i love you so much you mean the absolute world to me im gonna punch and kick you but in a loving way <333333
> 
> ANYWAY i'm hopped up on adrenaline and now i have to edit so uhhh enjoy!!! love y'all!

Argo stands on the precipice of understanding like a captain manning the wheel of his sinking ship.

The cheers and merry conversation morph into a raging storm, whipping winds in his face and echoing booms of thunder in his ears. He feels sickly hot and freezing cold at the same time, stomach churning with the violent rocks of the ship as waves batter at its sides. He can register very little of the reality around him, staring blankly ahead at the beacon of light he’ll never quite reach. Something swells in his chest and he can’t tell if it’s pride or disgust. His crew has all jumped, leaving him the last person alive on this boat of dreams. 

There were times where Argo could sit and imagine Fitzroy returning his feelings, back when those feelings were new and exciting and not fully realized. But now that Argo knows everything-- _truly_ everything--he is certain that all he’ll have is his imagination. 

Argo loves Fitzroy with every fiber of his being. He’s sure of that now. Every inch of skin, every muscle and bone, every drop of blood yearns for the barbarian’s gentle cadence. He hears wisps of his voice amongst the raging storm and it _hurts_ because of what he knows. Fitzroy laughs and suddenly Argo can’t stand it--can’t live with being on this sinking dream anymore. He turns heel and jumps ship, carefully weaving through the crowd to find somewhere that won’t fill him with the overwhelming presence of Fitzroy. The crowd easily fills his place, no one batting an eye at the genasi’s departure. 

At the front of the crowd, Fitzroy frowns when he realizes Argo is nowhere to be seen. 

\---

He walks for what feels like a while, but is likely a few minutes. (The town isn’t that big, after all.) He doesn’t have a destination in mind, just a feeling that if he doesn’t put an incredible amount of distance between himself and Fitzroy that he may do something he’ll regret. Eventually, that feeling lands him right in front of the statue of Dustin Scritchfield. 

Argo’s never taken the time to admire the statue, but from this close he can see all the details of this important figure. His strong jaw, etched with many markings to signify his stubble. His medium-length hair, most of which is hidden under the Stetson hat he’s tipping up towards the sky. The statue is humble--looking like it was carved out of concrete, instead of the typical marble or ivory--but it is beautiful. Argo looks at the bronze plaque at the base of the statue and reads: 

_IN HONOR OF A GREAT MAN, A GREAT HUSBAND, AND AN EVEN GREATER FRIEND. MAY HIS LONG-LIVED LEGACY THRIVE IN THE TOWN HE CREATED, AND MAY WE ALL LEARN TO TAKE LIFE A LITTLE LESS SERIOUSLY._

Argo sighs, sitting down on the base and looking upward. He wonders what kind of person Dustin must’ve been to be so loved by this town. Clearly someone who was strong, kind, dependable, funny, maybe a little stupid but in an endearing way, uptight but also laid back, really handsome--

Argo shakes his head, turning away from the statue. He’s getting off-track. 

The sharp pain in his chest eases to a dull throb as Argo sits and stares blankly at the ground. With time, he could probably get used to this mild pain. Maybe even find comfort in its everlasting presence; a sole reminder that he may never have what he wants, but at least he’s alive. But for right now, it’s just another feeling Argo has swirling within him. 

He wishes this could be different; to have this realization not as Fitzroy finds another but as Fitzroy finds _him_ , staring deep into each other’s eyes as Argo breathes out those three perfect words. Fitzroy would smile and pull him in close, breaths mingling for a second before their lips crash and the world slots into place. They wouldn’t need anymore words after that, just the feeling of each other and the synchronous rhythm of their hearts.

Argo flushes and shakes that feeling off, too. 

More than anything, Argo wishes this wasn’t so visceral. That finding love-- _true_ love, though Argo would never dare admit it--wasn’t so gut-wrenchingly painful. Unfortunately, Argo’s always had a heart this big. Keenes are born with hearts of gold that bleed openly. 

At least, that’s what Shebrie used to say.

She knew a lot about feeling, and as Argo spaces out once more he remembers...

\---

_Argo loved a lot of things. The ocean, the Mariah, his crew, and his mother most of all. But he also had other loves that are short-lived. He loved the candy shop at the Fyre Coast, and he loved Mr. George--the dock manager at Serpent’s Isle that let him practice his sword fighting and would give him saltwater taffy when he knocked the old man over with his wooden rapier._

_As he got older, though, he started to love a lot more than nice folks or sweet treats._

_He was nine when he got his first crush. His name was Ryan, he was a human boy with long, dark hair and the kindest brown eyes. They played pirates together and raced through the streets of town, and Argo loved him so much he didn’t even bother to think it would be unusual for a boy to love another boy. It was only when Argo voiced these feelings to Ryan, sitting together and panting after an intense race, that he realized any different._

_“Ew, what?” Ryan said, making a face and scooting an inch away from the young genasi. That inch felt like a whole mile as he continued, “That’s weird, dude. You only say that to, like, your parents.”_

_And so Argo had his first love, followed swiftly by his first heartbreak. Ryan left that afternoon and Argo never saw him again, even after scouring every inch of the market and beaches where they met._

_From there, nearly every seaport brought with it a new object of Argo’s affection. Some were tall, others short. Some had wide, infectious smiles; others had soft ones, quiet and reserved and all that more special to bring out. They all pulled at Argo’s young heartstrings and had him feeling tingly and giddy all the time. Until the eventual happened, and Argo had to part with his love in his own quiet ways (because after Ryan, he would never tell another outright). Then came the sulking and sighing and moping, until the next boy found his way to him and the cycle began anew._

_Shebrie Keene was incredibly aware of the wild whims of her son's affections, but she did her best to not mention it. Argo still hadn’t come to her directly about any of his schoolboy crushes, whether from guilt or mixed feelings she wasn’t sure. She knew it would happen eventually, so she pretended to be oblivious (and advised her crew to do the same, if they valued their jobs) until that time came._

_He was eleven when that moment finally arose. They had needed to port for a while longer than usual, due to yearly repairs that were left unchecked and a litany of paperwork Shebrie had neglected for a bit too long. They were there for nearly a year, and in that time Argo got close with a lot of the locals._

_Including Vincent, Argo’s biggest and hardest crush._

_They met in the market, when both of their sly hands reached for the same pastry just out of the baker’s eyesight. They stared at each other, wide-eyed and faces flushed with surprise, when the baker noticed the two scoundrels and screamed. They made their escape together, hand-in-hand for reasons Argo can’t quite remember, and when they were a good distance away they laughed and laughed and laughed._

_Argo loved Vincent in a way he couldn’t quite understand, but he was certain the boy was his soulmate. Vincent told Argo that he was an orphan, abandoned by his shitty parents and left to fend for himself. He had mystic purple eyes and curly white hair, and when he smiled Argo felt his insides melt. They spent every day of that year together--playing, committing petty crimes, hanging with the other children, telling jokes. At night, they sat on the ship and talked about everything an eleven-year-old can think of--their life, the things they’ve seen, and the things they wished to see._

_It’s on one of those nights that Vincent laid his hand over top of Argo’s, and when the genasi turned to say something he was met with Vincent’s lips against his own for a brief moment._

_His heart beat to a new rhythm, one where Vincent was always by his side. Vincent started acting a little different, after that night. They held hands more, they spent more time together, and he started insisting that they were “boyfriends”._

_Argo wanted to be Vincent’s boyfriend more than anything in the world._

_So much so, he failed to notice how Vincent began worming thoughts of him joining the Mariah’s crew into conversation._

_“I gotta get out of this town,” he said, grabbing both of Argo’s hands and pulling the other boy close. “Plus, how are we supposed to date if you’re so far away?”_

_Argo had already made the decision that Vincent would join them on the ship when it all went south. The day before they departed, militia made its way through the town just as Argo and Vincent were walking to the boat together (preparing to stow Vincent in storage until they were safely out at sea). When Vincent saw them, he took off running and forced Argo to go with him. The militia followed and cornered them, and it was then that Argo learned Vincent wasn’t a poor orphan at all._

_He was the son of a wealthy family a few towns over, and he was going to use Argo to get away from them so he could continue to cause mischief._

_The worst part of it all was, once Vincent was revealed, he changed. He looked at Argo with disdain as he was being dragged away; and, before Argo was even able to ask why, the drow was laughing bitterly at him. No longer the charming, kind boy Argo knew for these handful of months--he spat in Argo’s face when Argo dared to follow._

_He watched Vincent leave with his heart and spent the rest of the day in a daze. It wasn’t until late that night, when Shebrie was scouring the entire port for her son that she found him curled up in the sand under the docks. His eyes were red with tears, though none were falling at the moment. Her heart broke at the sight of her son, and she gently scooped the boy into her arms to carry him back home. Argo barely reacted, only adjusting his head so it was pressed into Shebrie’s neck as a few sniffles escaped him. She brought him to her quarters, laid him on her bed, and settled down beside him. Only then did the tears begin anew, Argo clutching to his mother and weepily as he explained everything._

_“Oh, my dear,” Shebrie cooed when Argo finished, running gentle hands through his dark locks. “I wish I would’ve known about this sooner; we received a letter from that family with requests to find the child and return him to their estate. Apparently he’s been running this grift with a few caravaners to get him to this port, and then I suppose he was going to use you to get away for good.”_

_“Y-Yeah,” Argo warbled out, head still buried in his mother’s chest. “I-I just don’t get it. Why_ me _? W-Why does this happen to m-me?”_

_“It’s because you’re a Keene, my little Argonaut,” Shebrie explained gently. “We have been predestined by the gods to be bleeding hearts. To feel beyond the point of feeling, and to have hearts that shimmer and shine the purest gold. I’m the very same way, my dear. I feel so intensely that it pains me, sometimes.”_

_“B-But_ why _?” Argo asked, a little more insistent as he finally looked up at his mother. “_ Why _do we have to be this way?” Shebrie sighed as she considered her answer, continually carding her hand through her son’s hair in an attempt to soothe him._

_“Because...there has to be people like us in the universe. People who feel for those who cannot; people whose feelings encompass every inch of their soul. It’s all a big balancing act--there are those who cannot feel at all or have no understanding of their emotions, and there are those that feel with the wholeness of their self or understand the depths of their feelings. We simply exist as the ebb to others’ flow, we push against them like waves push against our ship. Together, we create wonderful things! But I can understand how it hurts when that feeling isn’t...understood.” Shebrie’s explanation smoothed the lines on Argo’s forehead, causing her to smile a bit more._

_“I swear to you, my dear, you_ will _find your person.” Shebrie continued, bringing her hand underneath Argo’s chin to direct his gaze. “I was just as stranded as you are, and then I met your father and everything felt...real. Like a veil was lifted from my eyes and I could see brand new colors! My heart beat with a rhythm entirely new because it had finally found its complement. You have your father’s heart as much as you have mine, and he felt passion with a ferocity I had never seen...When he smiled at me, it was like I had done something_ great _\--like move mountains or part the seas. But all I was doing was being_ me _, which was perhaps the greatest thing of all to him…” With her idle hand, she reached up and grabbed the sapphire of her necklace. “You’ll have that too, Argo. Give it time.”_

_“B-But--” Argo protested just as a yawn cut him off. It appeared that all his tears had tired him out, and with his mother by his side he couldn’t help but feel himself begin to drift. “When will I know?”_

_“I can’t explain that exactly, but I promise you’ll feel it. Life will feel different,” She began to settle Argo down on her bed, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his forehead as she tucked him in._

_“You’ll feel different.”_

\---

The memory fades and Argo is left sitting there, tears welled up in his eyes for a litany of reasons as he thinks over his mother’s words. 

Life certainly _has_ been different. 

Meeting Fitzroy was the catalyst for so many things; finding friends, fighting demons, learning the prince of those demons runs the school they attend, running away, finding _new_ people and _new_ friends and learning more and more about life as the days go by. He thinks back to that night on the roof and how the air felt different after Fitzroy ran off. It felt...significant. 

That may have been the moment Argo’s heart found its match.

Fitzroy _is_ his person, but Argo will never be Fitzroy’s. 

He lets a few of those tears fall, dark droplets falling on the sand below. Mourning, perhaps, the loss of a future he’ll never know. The tears continue to fall for a moment as Argo becomes more and more consumed by an overwhelming sense of grief. Some of it for his past, some of it for his future, a _lot_ of it just amorphous sadness that permeates every inch of his soul. He lets his bleeding heart shine through for just a while more until he hears something in the distance. Numbed by his crying but curious nonetheless, he gets up and follows the source of the noise, watching the large crowd file their way into Bustin’s Bar. It would seem as though a celebration was in order for the courageous save at Meadowbrook, but Argo doesn’t feel much for celebrating. He stands just out of view of the crowd, eyes scanning the faces until he sees the half-elf who owns his heart laughing heartily with Wyatt and Jenny. 

Wyatt looks up at Fitzroy and smiles, face flushed. Fitzroy slaps a hand on his shoulder, smiling back. 

Argo feels sick. 

He creeps past the crowd and makes a beeline for the apartment, climbing the stairs with ease and quickly locking himself inside. Once he knows he’s well and truly alone, he lets his heart break in peace. 

If Fitzroy loves another, who is he to deny that? Even though every bone in his body aches for the barbarian to be his, he isn’t going to force Fitzroy’s affections. Love is something that is realized, not pulled out. Besides, Wyatt seems like a good guy. Maybe they’re better off together without any of the baggage of Fitzroy’s former life, rather than with someone who knows so much… 

Argo makes a decision then and there, sitting on the floor in the living room. He will do his best, try his hardest, and fight _tooth and nail_ to ensure Fitzroy lives the happiest life he could ever imagine. So that even if Fitzroy doesn’t spare him that special smile anymore, he’ll at least know he has someone to give it to. Even if that means Argo has to leave Fitzroy’s life forever, it would be enough to know that Fitzroy is happier without him.

With a saddened but absolute resolve, Argo takes a step over the edge. The waves crash, the lightning flashes, and the water is cold and dark. 

But he smiles, even as his love suffocates him. 

\---

It isn’t the knighthood Fitzroy dreamed of obtaining, but it certainly comes close. 

After fighting off those bandits in Meadowbrook, things change. For one, any ill feelings remaining after Fitzroy’s electrical accident is practically wiped away. People greet him wherever he walks, kids ask for his autograph, and adults buy him drinks at the bar. Jenny can’t stop going around and telling everyone how proud she is of him, like a mother passing around baby pictures at a family dinner. Fitzroy’s ego swells with the attention, preening himself on every kind word and exclamation of “hero”. 

Jasper offers him a position at the sheriff’s office, in case “those bandit fucks come back ‘round”, but Fitzroy politely turns him down. As much as he’s wanted to be a knight or any sort of guardian figure, this “hometown hero” business feels a lot more satisfying. Plus, he’d rather spend his days sanding wood than filling out paperwork in an office. 

All in all, the moment leaves a lasting effect on the citizens of Dust Field. No longer do people cower or shiver when word of the bandits goes around. Now, they stand tall and proudly proclaim, “Well, Roy got ‘em once and he can get ‘em again!” And Fitzroy feels...good about that. That people feel more confident with him around. That people _appreciate_ his power, instead of fearing it. That people appreciate _him_ instead of brushing him off or ridiculing him. He hasn’t felt this swell of confidence in...ages, it feels like! 

But not all things change in a good way. 

With the increased attention on Fitzroy, his other two compatriots start to hang around less and less. Sure, he sees them at the apartment, but even those moments are fleeting and surrounded by an awkwardly tense air. Master Firbolg walks home with him from work sometimes, but he never says much (though he’s never been a talker, this silence feels different and more unbearable). Argo is practically a ghost; Fitzroy only sees wisps of his clothes around corners or flashes of blue skin out of the corners of his eyes. 

Argo also recently bought a coat. Long and black and made of leather. He keeps it slung on the dining room chair when he gets home from work; in the exact same spot he used to keep his poncho. 

Come to think of it, Fitzroy hasn’t seen that poncho in a few days. 

Eh, must be in the wash or something. 

Fitzroy tries not to let any of it bother him; if those two had a problem with him or his new lifestyle, they would approach him and talk it out like men. He’s not going to sit around and wait for them to stop sulking when life finally seems to be coming up Fitzroy! Eventually, he assumes they’ll come around and get over whatever funk they’re in, and then things will be all good from now on. 

Well, after he does one _little_ thing. 

\---

“So, uhhhh, why are we here?” Wyatt asks nervously, sitting down on one side of the booth as Fitzroy slides into the other. He picks up a menu and eyes Wyatt strangely. 

“Because...it’s lunch time? And they serve food here?” Fitzroy replies, rolling his eyes when he sees Wyatt fluster and shake his head. 

“N-No, no, I get...I _get that_ , Roy, I just…” Wyatt looks around Bustin’s Bar for a moment, seeming to gather his courage. “Why did you invite _me_ to _lunch_ ? U-Usually you just eat in the shop.” Though he is calm on the outside, inwardly Fitzroy curses at how quickly Wyatt is able to see through his ruse. He was _hoping_ for this to just be casual--a simple lunch with a coworker--without revealing any of his other intentions. He sighs, setting the menu down and folding his hands on the table, leveling Wyatt with a serious but slightly nervous gaze. 

“Well, I s’pose you got me,” Fitzroy starts, “I...didn’t just bring you here for a ‘casual bro sesh’, as the sayin’ goes. The truth is I, uh...W-Well I just _wanted_ to, y’know--” He gestures vaguely, cheeks lightly flushing as Wyatt instinctively leans in--eyes wide with excitement and face steadily growing red. “--I simply wanted to, uh. T-To say--” 

“--Yes?” Wyatt breathes out, heart pounding nearly out of his chest. Fitzroy looks away for a moment and coughs awkwardly into his fist as he very quickly gets out the words he’s been meaning to say: 

“--Iwantedtosaysorry.” Wyatt stares, excitement immediately replaced with confusion as Fitzroy burns a hole into a nearby wall with his gaze. 

“I...sorry, what did you say? I-I, uh...couldn’t hear ya, bud.” He says, watching Fitzroy sigh again and finally look back at him. 

“I wanted to say _sorry_ ,” Fitzroy finally manages. “For Wednesday. I-I shouldn’t have...I--I was very rude to you when you were bein’ very kind to me and...a-and I realize that wasn’t right. And I’m sorry.” He watches Wyatt for his reaction, who continues to look back at Fitzroy before sighing and leaning back into the booth. Fitzroy furrows his brows at this display. “What? W-What’s with tha--why did you do that?” Wyatt laughs to himself and shakes his head, brushing off Fitzroy’s words with a wave. 

“It’s--Nothing, I...It’s nothing, Roy.” Wyatt says cryptically, smiling to himself. “I do appreciate your apology, though. I-I just wasn’t expecting it? Honestly, I sorta forgot that whole moment happened after the bandit fight.” Fitzroy shrugs and feigns nonchalance, even though he’s had the moment nagging in his mind since it happened. He doesn’t _like_ being that way, unless someone deserves it. But Wyatt didn’t deserve it; he was just trying to be nice in a way Fitzroy wasn’t comfortable with. A simple misunderstanding. 

“Well, I just figured it’s better to settle the air now so it don’t haunt the both of us,” Fitzroy explains, smiling politely at Lyra who approaches the table. She places two glasses of lemon water on the table and nods, walking back to the bar. For a moment, Fitzroy peeks over the booth and watches Lyra walk to Argo and say something to him. Argo is wearing his white button-up with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his inked arm as he idly cleans a glass. He says something back to Lyra and then quickly glances over to Fitzroy. 

They lock eyes for only a millisecond, before Argo turns and makes a beeline for the kitchen. 

Huh…

“Uh, Roy? You there?” Wyatt’s voice causes Fitzroy to turn back. 

“Sorry, I was just…” Fitzroy trails off, unsure of what to make of the strange feeling that has formed in his gut. He shakes it off. “What were you saying?” Wyatt seems to understand to not mention what just happened because all he does is smile and ease back into conversation. 

“I said that I appreciate the sentiment ‘cause I wouldn’t want anything that dumb to mess with our friendship.” Wyatt says again, furrowing his eyebrows when he notices Fitzroy bristle. “Unless we... _aren’t_ friends?” The question hangs in the air a moment too long and makes Wyatt immediately backpedal. “O-Or we’re not--I suppose that was a little assuming because we just, uh. I mean we’re coworkers definitely, a-and I consider _you_ a friend b-but I--I’m sorry, I’ve made this weird--” He’s cut off by Fitzroy reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, immediately making Wyatt blush. Fitzroy sighs when he sees this, patting Wyatt’s shoulder twice before pulling away. 

“You’re fine honestly, it’s just--” Fitzroy begins before immediately stopping because what the _fuck_ is he supposed to say now? Friendship and Fitzroy don’t really mix, and he’s always sort of assumed people only have him around for mutual benefits. Which isn’t something he’s necessarily against; it’s just when someone says stuff like _this_ it makes him freeze up. “I mean, you can consider us friends. I’m not...opposed to that.” Wyatt looks at him strangely, making him realize how weird of a statement that was to say. But he isn’t able to clarify before Lyra comes back and takes their orders. Fitzroy skims the menu absentmindedly, thoughts still focused on the concept of “friends”, and he isn’t sure what he even ordered when Lyra finally takes their menus and walks away. This time, he doesn’t follow her movement back to the bar, though a certain rogue does glance over anyway before returning to work.

“Roy, I’m gonna ask you something, a-and I want you to know that it’s not coming from a place of ridicule or judgement, okay?” Wyatt says as soon as Lyra is out of earshot. Fitzroy feels a low pang of anxiety in his gut, but he doesn’t show it as he nods. “Do you...Who do you consider your friends? Do you mind telling me?” 

Hm. That’s...hm. 

Fitzroy takes a long drink from his water, buffering mentally as he wraps his head around the question. If he were asked this about a year ago, the answer would’ve been, “No one.” Which is a simple (yet definitely sad) answer, right? But now-- _now_ especially--things are more complicated than Clyde Nite’s. How much is too much information? How little is self-doubt? Why is it taking so long for him to come up with an answer _dear Fantasy Christ it shouldn’t be that difficult_ \--

“Roy!” Wyatt exclaims, snapping the barbarian out of his reverie. He is suddenly made aware of the amount of water on his face, neck, and shirt; along with the nearly-empty cup of water he still has pressed up to his sealed lips. “Gods, man, we don’t have to talk about this if it means yer gonna _waterboard_ yourself--” 

“--No, no! I’m fine!” Fitzroy recovers, setting the glass down and attempting to return to some semblance of calm. “It’s all good, really, I just--needed the cool-off, y’know? Hot days out here in the desert--hoo wee yes sir indeedy! But it’s...my _friends_ , that’s easy! There’s….there’s Bud….and Aaronnnnnnnnnnnnmaybe Aaron. Not too _sure_ on that one, actually, but--he’s there, I guess. We’ve got...well, we’ve g-got...I would consideeeeeeer Jenny? J-Jenny feels like a friend, yes, so she’s. She’s there. Lyra seems to want me dead still so I don’t--not too sure on her but uhhhh....Well, there’s _you_ \--you just said it yourself so I...That’s it? I--Yeah. Yeah that’s it.” Wyatt watches with an unreadable expression that makes sweat bead on Fitzroy’s forehead. Then, he leans forward a little, looking like he wants to reach out but is unsure if Fitzroy would allow that. 

“Something tells me you’re not being honest right now,” Wyatt says, voice quiet and calm despite the spike of anxiety his words sends through Fitzroy. “And that’s okay. But I just...Roy, you know you can _have friends_ , right? Like, people are _allowed_ to be here for you. You don’t...you don’t just have to be the lone cowboy.” The two watch each other for a long pause, words permeating each of their brains in a different way. 

Rationally, Fitzroy understands Wyatt is being kind because he cares, but instinct tends to overpower reason. And instinct reminds Fitzroy of the number of people who have used him to get ahead; who have played pretend and messed with his heartstrings before abandoning him for someone new. It’s why he acts the way he does with people, keeping them just at arm’s length so he can safely sever ties if things go south. That’s what he _wanted_ to do with Argo, but for some reason he still decides to care (for reasons he doesn’t understand). Subconsciously, it’s what he’s been doing for the past few days--preparing for the moment when the Firbolg and Argo decide he’s no longer worth it and ditch him. It’s...He doesn’t _want_ it, but it’s learned behavior. And it’s easier to assume everyone is unkind instead of thinking of how all the unkind people just made their way into Fitzroy’s life. 

He feels his magic surge through his veins as panic bubbles low in his body, but he does his best to keep it at bay. The town won’t be as kind if they see him blow up again--bandits be damned. So he attempts (once again) something he isn’t quite used to doing: being honest. 

“It’s...complicated,” Fitzroy mutters, dabbing the water off himself in lieu of looking back at his coworker. “Where I grew up...I was a little bit of an outsider. Sort of like you, but...not for the same reasons. It’s--I worked very hard to be someone worth being liked, and I have gotten very little of the admiration I’ve wanted since childhood. People are mean, Wyatt. We’re cruel and cold and unkind and judgmental and--I’ve allowed myself to be hated quietly. I’d prefer a bunch of people consider me a standoffish dirtbag than actually be close. A-And I know by just _sayin_ ’ it I’m lettin’ you in, but I don’t wanna blow up on you again because that wasn’t fair. You’ve been roughin’ it out here as much as I have, and if you wanna be nice to me that’s your choice. I just...I dunno.” His thoughts freeze suddenly, leaving him wringing his cloth napkin until it nearly rips in half. He doesn’t dare to see how Wyatt is looking at him. The silence that follows strips him bare, leaving him shivering against the bitter winds of reality as he impatiently waits for a response. 

Right when Fitzroy is about to bolt, Wyatt reaches out and lets his hand fall on top of Fitzroy’s. He gently pries the napkin from his hands and puts it on the table, then returns his hand to simply rest atop the fists that remain. When Fitzroy finally manages to look at Wyatt, his freckled face is smiling gently back at him. It stirs no particular emotion within him, but another sees this exchange and nearly throws up from the gut punch it delivers. 

“Can I tell ya a little something about me?” Wyatt asks, tilting his head invitingly. Fitzroy wordlessly nods, moving his hands so Wyatt gets the cue and draws back. He does this without a word of protest. “So, I dunno if Jenny told you about this before I came back, but the reason I was gone when you guys showed up is because I was at a funeral.” 

“Oh, she told us that.” Fitzroy nods as the memory comes to him. “Sorry ‘bout your loss, by the way.” Wyatt shrugs good naturedly and stirs the ice in his glass. 

“It’s fine. It was my grandpa--the one I told you who let me live with him in the city.” That information had not been relayed to Fitzroy, and with what he knows about Wyatt he immediately frowns. Wyatt notices this and shakes his head, waving him off again. “Honestly, it’s fine! It was his time to go, and I’ve got a therapist in the city who checks in on me pretty frequently. But I’m tellin’ you this because I wanna tell you a story about what happened at the funeral.” Fitzroy nods and lets him continue. 

“Y’see, my grandpa knew...a _lot_ of people. He was a pretty popular guy! And for good reason--he was smart, kind, good-humored, generous, and loyal to a fault. If you left a good impression on him, he would _never_ forget you and continue to try and keep tabs on ya. He just loved folks that much! I think that’s where I got it from ‘cause my family is a little...standoffish. So, I get word that he’s dying and I tell Jenny I just gotta _go_ . I didn’t know when I was gonna be back ‘cause I didn’t know when he’d die, and I wasn’t leavin’ his side until it was all said and done. In total, it took about a week and a half for him to be shipped off to the gods, and not for a _second_ did I ever leave his side.”

“He was really positive about the whole situation. Kept crackin’ jokes about how it was ‘about time’ and tried adding a bunch of stupid little clauses to his will as I was writing it. He also had a lot of visitors when he was dying--lots of old friends from school and work, along with the hundreds of people who he’s come across in his journeys. They’d spend the day by his side, regaling old tales and getting out their final wishes before leaving. Not a single one of them left crying--Grandpa made sure of that. He kept saying to me, ‘Make sure these fools aren’t crying. I don’t want a single one of them to shed a tear while I’m alive. Hold that shit until I’m in the grave.’ Not because he didn’t want people to be sad--he understood that people were gonna be sad--he just...he wanted the end of his life to be a celebration of all the good things he’s done and the people he met.” 

“Finally, late one night, he turns to me and smiles and...that was it. Not a final word, not a last request, just...looking at me, died right then and there. I-I shut his eyes and turned off his lamp and went to get the nurses who were living there until it happened…” Wyatt trails off, looking out the window behind Fitzroy’s head, eyes cloudy with tears. He blinks and a few fall, but neither man chooses to acknowledge it. 

“The funeral was pretty much planned out since the start. That was Grandpa’s first task on his dying man’s agenda, and so it was pretty easy to execute. He wanted to be cremated and put into one of my sculptures, and so we did just that. N-Not the sculpture part--I still gotta figure out what I wanna do--b-but everything else was handled. I held a funerary reception for anyone who’d like to come and pay respects and celebrate his life, like he wanted. And here comes the funny part: out of all of the _hundreds_ of people who came to see him in life, you wanna know how many people showed up to his funeral?” 

“Uhhh, twenty?” Fitzroy responds after a moment. Wyatt shakes his head and motions for him to try again. “Thirty?” No. “Twelve?” Nope. “Sixty-nine?” Nice, but no. “Like, eight?? Wyatt, I’m not gonna know--” 

“--One.” Wyatt answers, cutting Fitzroy’s entire train of thought off as he processes what the blonde just said. “I was the only one at his funeral, besides the priest. And this wasn’t the fault of bad directions because I sent out _hundreds_ of invitations and fact checked every single one of them so I had the right addresses and the right directions. No one showed up! Not a single one of his many ‘friends’ bothered to see him after he died, a-and I was...gods, I was furious! I sat there for _hours_ , picking at the finger food and chatting with the priest--just _waiting_ for _someone_ who I saw earlier in the week to stop by. But no one did!” 

“What’d you do?” Fitzroy asks, genuinely curious and a little offended for Wyatt’s grandfather. 

“I packed everything up. Gave a lot of the food to the priest for his youth group, cleaned up the area, grabbed Grandpa’s urn and headed back to his place. A-And, before you ask, I sent each and every one of those assholes a _strongly_ worded letter about common decency the _second_ I got back. But I still had to pack up all of his stuff, and in that time I just kept...kept _thinking_ , y’know. Like, why would a man _this_ well-liked be _abandoned_ like he was? It took some time and a lot of reading through Grandpa’s personal journals, but eventually I came to the answer…” He takes a sip of his water and looks at Fitzroy, eyes shining with tears and care. 

“If you spread your love out to everyone, then a lot of people get a little bit of you. But if you give a lot of love to a few people, _then_ you make real connections. My grandpa wasn’t alone at his funeral ‘cause… ‘cause _I_ was there-- _I_ was Grandpa’s one person. Not my family, not his friends, just _me_ . I knew more about him than I’ve ever known about another person, a-and it took me until his death to realize the reason he wasn’t sad about it was because he knew one person still had his heart...Me…” Wyatt rubs at his eyes, hiding the tears that fall quickly, and smiles. “I can tell that you’ve had it rough--you sorta just told me that you’ve always felt out of place. A-And I get that! I felt the same for so many years; I was so afraid to give people my love like Grandpa gave me his. So--So that’s why I’m not asking you to consider me a close friend. I...I understand if I’m simply not that person for you! But what I...what I _hope_ is that you find a person-- _a_ person at _least_ \--and give them your love. B-Because you deserve to have people who you feel care about you as much as you do them. Does that...that sound good?” 

Fitzroy is silent for a while. He looks through Wyatt like a portal to his past, watching brief clips of his life like a play. He sees himself looking at his reflection, poking at the black eye he got at recess and wondering if he could modify his body to make it go away. He sees the kids he used to hang out with during high school, snickering as Fitzroy walks away with his Clyde Nite’s acceptance letter in hand. He sees his dorm at knight school--watches himself lay curled up on his bunk bed, staring at the wall as his roommate has vulgarly loud intercourse above him. He sees how the kids stared at him after the catfish incident, like a clown and a hanged man at the same time as Fitzroy walked towards his expulsion. 

And then, Fitzroy sees Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy. He sees people refer to him as “Sir” out of respect, not ridicule. He sees Argo go out of his way to bring him a muffin after freshman seminar, knowing that the half-elf had forgone breakfast because there were no crepes. He sees the Firbolg offer him a spot under his favorite tree, listening to the barbarian rant about his day as he munched on berries. He watches Rainer crochet a tiny hat for Snippers, gossiping about Buckminster and Rolandus’ romantic trifles as Fitzroy ate lunch. 

Finally, he sees Wyatt, who just opened his heart up to him for no reason at all. He looks over at the bar and sees Lyra cooing at her pet rat that lays across her shoulder, and he thinks of how kind the couple has been to him even when he’s hurt them. 

Maybe...Maybe he could open up. Just a little. 

Just for a few people. 

Their conversation picks up after that moment, and Fitzroy finds himself feeling less tense by the minute. Wyatt is interesting, and Wyatt is funny, and Wyatt may have a crush on him but he can ignore it for the time being. They talk about work and life in town; Fitzroy shares scraps of his past in easy-to-digest ways, and Wyatt never presses him further if he trails off. Their lunches come and they barely register it, so engrossed in conversation. 

This is a change, too, but it isn’t bad. Fitzroy actually sees himself _enjoying_ being a little more open, even if it terrifies him. 

Meanwhile, across the way, Argo watches this scene in a different light. He sees two young lovers, unsure of each other’s feelings but sure of their own, slowly but surely coming together in a way Argo yearns to have. He tries to ignore it, but a particular peal of Fitzroy’s laughter snaps his heart in half all over again. Lyra looks at him, concerned, but doesn’t say a word when he brushes past her to the kitchen. He stands in the pantry and gives himself a second to breathe. 

After a few breaths, the ice forms over Argo’s heart once more, and he’s good to go. 

\---

The rest of the day passes by without an issue. Wyatt and Fitzroy return from their lunch a little closer than before, and Jenny is happy to see her boys getting along without any of the previous weird energy. After completing their day’s duties, Jenny shoos them away to their respective homes and Fitzroy gladly obliges. He heads home (later than the Firbolg, so he walks alone) and makes himself a quick dinner. He eats in silence--save for Slithers, who munches on some (diced) strawberries from that morning’s breakfast--and then gets changed to go on a run. There isn’t really anywhere for Fitzroy to run _within_ town limits, so he was at a loss as to what to do for his “strict” exercise regimen he’d been attempting to maintain during school. Eventually, he solved this problem by picking a random direction and just going for a few miles before turning back and heading home. The sun has nearly set, so Fitzroy makes sure to bring the pocket knife Jasper gifted him (after seeing him come back from one of these night runs) and a magic flare (in case he gets injured and needs rescue). He places these things in his crossbody satchel, along with a bottle of water, and starts a steady pace going West. 

He breathes in the cool evening air and feels himself rejuvenated. There’s something about running in the desert at night that is so _peaceful_. Like nothing bad can happen under the endless expanse of stars. He goes for probably an hour, judging by the darkness that has settled over the area, just running and thinking nothing at all. 

It is in this hour of near-darkness that things start to happen. 

Fitzroy doesn’t see it at first--too lost in his own blissful nothingness--but eventually he realizes that it’s a little _too_ dark for the hour it should be. It’s almost like the inky blackness has settled over _him_ specifically, and it makes him wonder how long he’s truly been out for. After stopping for a moment, he turns back towards town and realizes--

Oh. 

Oh fuck. Oh no. 

_He can’t see town._

“ _Shit_ ,” Fitzroy breathes out, panic seizing his lungs as he turns aimlessly in a few directions to see if he had gotten off-track. But all he sees around him is _black_ \--dark, dark, _dark_ black. He rights himself and attempts to control his breathing. “Okay, Fitzroy. That’s...It’s okay. Y-You just gotta head back the way you came. It’s a _desert_ ; a town shouldn’t be _that_ hard to see.” With that in mind, he runs in the direction he came from. 

(At least, the direction he _thinks_ he came from.) 

He runs, careful not to overexert himself in case he _is_ pretty far, and focuses his attention on finding town through the darkness. For a while, it feels like he’s barely made any progress--the blackness is so strong it makes him question if he’s even been _running_. 

And then...And then he sees something out of the corner of his eye. 

It _isn’t_ town. 

Two beady eyes stare at him, sharp teeth glowing in the darkness and making Fitzroy scream in terror. He runs away from the eyes, only to find more eyes in the direction he runs. Suddenly his calm run morphs into a terror-filled sprint away from whatever lurks in the night. He could turn around and fight them, but his panic and paranoia have made anything other than running a Herculean task. He hears snarls and growls from all sides, forcing him to just keep running without fail. He tries to scream for help, but his throat is hoarse from the exercise. He tastes salt in the back of his throat and wonders if it’s saliva or blood as the sound of wicked cackling comes from nowhere. 

He screams, tripping on a stone he never would’ve been able to see, and fumbles for his satchel as he loses his footing. The flare fires off just as he hits the ground, and in the red fire he’s able to see the hell hounds that are racing towards him. 

Then, his head connects with the earth below and it all goes black, black, black. 

Until…

Untill…

Until… 

Until...he hears a voice, muffled like there’s cotton in his ears. He opens his eyes and finds himself laying on a cushy mattress, covered in a plush comforter and silken blankets. The voice continues to speak as Fitzroy adjusts to his surroundings--his face was pressed into two downy pillows, and as he pries his face off he can see the room more clearly. 

This bedroom (as Fitzroy can gather from the bed) is _extravagant_ , floored with a deep mahogany and painted a beautiful maroon. He’s laying on a four-poster bed, covered in a sheer canopy that glimmers iridescent in the morning light. Now that he’s sitting up, he can tell that the voice is muffled through the sturdy door facing the bed. There’s also a gentle knocking that he hadn’t heard before, and even though he should be on-guard he can’t help but call out: “Come...in?” 

The door opens with a long creak, and in the doorway Fitzroy can see a scrawny-looking gentleman in maroon pantaloons and a poofy white blouse with a red vest over top. He’s holding a scroll and nervously looks back at Fitzroy, coughing into one hand as he quietly makes his way further into the room. 

“U-Uh, good morning, Your Majesty,” the man greets, immediately throwing Fitzroy for a loop. “For the agenda today, um, you’re needed in the throne room to deliver judgement on the latest captive, and then you have lunch with the Admiral, t-then you--” Fitzroy shakes his head in disbelief, which silences the man immediately. Fitzroy realizes this and looks at the man perplexed. “S...Something the matter, King Fitzroy?” 

Hold on. _King_ Fitzroy? When the hell did he become _king_ ? And where the hell _is_ he? And _who is this tiny little man calling him King Fitzroy_!? 

“N-No, nothing is the matter,” Fitzroy replies, deciding to keep his questions to himself for now. He looks around the bedroom-- _his_ bedroom, he assumes--and takes in all the riches and fineries that surround him. Beautiful tapestries and paintings line the walls, along with shelves filled with fascinating artifacts and trinkets from across the globe. He has a sturdy mahogany desk piled with letters and papers, and across the way he has a massive mahogany wardrobe with gold handles. 

A smile worms its way onto his face. As long as he’s _here_ , he might as well…

“Actually, I’m feeling quite famished after my--my _long_ restless sleep. Might I have breakfast brought to me? Right away?” Fitzroy asks, the gentleman jumping to attention. He salutes Fitzroy, then realizes his mistake and bows instead. 

“O-Oh, of course, your Lordship! Your typical breakfast--crepes filled with strawberries and cream, drizzled with chocolate sauce and dollops of whipped cream; followed by a side of fruit salad using our freshest fruits; then a small plate of house-smoked breakfast sausages and eggs done _just_ the way you like, not runny but not completely stiff; along with a glass of fresh orange juice _without_ pulp--will be here right away!” The man rattles off this mouth-watering breakfast like it’s routine, and Fitzroy is starting to envy the version of him that’s been living this well the entire time. 

“Ooo yes, that’ll be all for now, Mr. Butler Guy,” Fitzroy says, shooing the man off with a wave of his hand. Mr. Butler Guy nervously bows and makes a speedy exit from his bedroom, closing the door and leaving Fitzroy alone with... _this_. 

He stands and wanders around the room, taking in every detail with rapt attention. He throws open the wardrobe and ogles the many cloaks and capes that fill it, all rich-feeling and hefty, all beautiful. Then, he dashes over to the desk and flips through the letters. A lot of them look to be either addressed to or from “The Kraken”, but he’s too excited to read any of them. The only one he does manage to skim is from...huh? 

“Rainer Michelle, _The Lich Queen_ ? Hello?” Fitzroy says to himself, reading through the insistent letter that he attend brunch with her and her _wife_ \-- _hello what she’s married_?? 

From the desk, he catches a glimpse of his own body hunched over it, and he finally turns his attention to the massive mirror that stands beside a door (likely his closet, given the placement). Here, he can see the biggest surprise of all: Himself. 

Dear Fantasy Jesus Christ he’s _sexy_. 

Bare chest, rippled with impressive muscle and covered in a litany of brands across both pecs. He’s wearing silk pajama pants that barely contain his powerful thighs and calves; and, as he turns this way and that to get a good look, he notices the fractal patterns of pearlescence that cover his body like scars. It looks like he’s been electrocuted, only the energy stayed inside and turned the scars into luminescent lines across every plane of skin. He looks into his own eyes and sees that same pearlescence in the outer ring of his iris, moving like a whirlpool of color. He admires the trimmed stubble and the remaining fractal scars that slither up the side of his face like a snake. His hair is lighter, nearly white at its roots and then getting gradually darker. It also seems to have a mind of its own, sticking out like he’s charged with static electricity and moving gently like a cloud. 

Wait a second. Cloud hair….where has he seen that before? 

**_Boo._ ** Fitzroy yelps when he sees the reflection of Chaos in the mirror behind him, whipping around to face the deity with his hands out to protect himself. Chaos stands at their impressive height, their form mostly covered by the floor-length gown they’re wearing. It looks to be made of glass, showing fragmented pieces of Fitzroy’s new face whilst also bouncing light around the room. Their arms sag in fabric-like waves, and one might think they were just wearing a sleeved gown if it wasn’t for the fact that their massive hands weren’t attached to their wrists. Their head is polygonal, sharp lines covered with abstract features. Their hair is a _literal_ cloud floating above their head, resembling the fluffy clouds of a sunny day. They smile and give Fitzroy a little finger-wave. **_Oh, I got you_ ** **so** **_good, Fitzroy. You_ ** **have** **_to give me that one~_ **

“Mhm, yes, very cool and epic, thank you _so much_ Chaos for the frightening entrance,” Fitzroy says, deadpan. “Hey, now that I know _you’re_ involved uhhhhh where the hell am I? Is this...some sort of weird scene change like you like doing orrrrr…” Chaos laughs, moving languidly through the room like they’re floating. 

**_Not this time! No, you see, I realized that--while the scenery was entertaining for_ ** **me** **_\--it was doing_ ** **nothing** **_to convince you to join my cause. Soooo I decided to try a new tactic! Welcome, Fitzroy, to_ ** **the Future** **_!_ ** Chaos explains, spreading their arms out wide and spinning in a circle as they welcome him. **_Or, should I say,_ ** **a** **_future. Of course, I cannot guarantee for this all to become true, but I have it on good authority that most of this will be as it is. And that authority is, of course, yours truly~_ **They pose cheekily, beaming their sickening smile at Fitzroy and causing him to feel a little queasy. 

“H-Hold on...this is my _future_? W-Wha--I don’t understand--” 

**_What is there to understand? I’m starting to get a little frustrated at how often I have to mention I’m a_ ** **deity** **_, but I have an understanding of all functions of the universe! I know what paths lead to where, as well as how to follow said paths!_ ** **This** **_path,_ ** Chaos gestures around them once more, **_is simply the culmination of_ ** **you** **_using the powers_ ** **I’ve** **_gifted you to win the war!_ ** Fitzroy’s face morphs into one of great concern by the end of Chaos’s explanation, and they take note of this with a small frown. **_Are you--He_ ** **seriously** **_has not contacted you yet?_ **

“I--Who?” Fitzroy responds, for lack of any better words. Chaos takes two long fingers and pantomimes pinching their nose (since they don’t have one in this form), sighing deeply. Fitzroy snorts. “Thought you knew everything there was to know?” Chaos looks at him and narrows their eyes, pointing a threatening finger in his direction. 

**_Quiet, you._ ** They quip back, Fitzroy clamming up (not without a few snorts). **_Of course I know everything, fool, but I have been_ ** **busy** **_and assumed the incompetent buffoon would have relayed this information to you._ **

“Well, figuring I have absolutely no idea who you’re talking about right now, I’d say he’s still pretty incompetent,” Fitzroy replies with a shrug. Chaos rolls their eyes and nods. 

**_Like you would not_ ** **believe** **_. I honestly still ask myself why I granted him my power if he’s going to use it so...so...so--_ **

“Shittily?”

 **_Yes!_ ** Chaos snaps their fingers and cackles. **_Yes! So shittily! The man is_ ** **so** **_shitty, you hit the nail right on the head!_ **The two share a laugh for a minute; an incredibly strange sight, if anyone were to look inside. Then, Fitzroy sighs and wipes a fake tear from his eye. 

“Ah, yes, funny stuff indeed...Now, uh, what the _fuck_ do you mean by _war_?” Fitzroy asks, dropping any pretenses of humor to get right to the point. Chaos continues to laugh to themselves as they float around the room, picking up random trinkets and turning them around in their hands. 

**_You’ll find out soon enough~ I’m not going to spoil_ ** **everything** **_for you just because I like you best._ ** They sing-song, ignoring Fitzroy’s glare to turn to his cloak wardrobe. **_What I think is more important is that this can allllll be yours if you simply let yourself go loose! You know, like you did to those bandits~?_ ** Fitzroy freezes as Chaos turns, smile wide and wicked. **_Fitzroy. Come on. We_ ** **just** **_went over how I’m all-knowing. You think I wouldn’t know about you using my powers in an impressive act of rage? I was all over that from the start!_ **They clap their hands and suddenly the massive mirror in front of Fitzroy ripples. As Fitzroy turns, he watches his reflection change to a still shot of the Meadowbrook market. Specifically, the scene is of Fitzroy swinging a magic-charged steel bar at that orc bandit, tiny sparks of electricity shooting out from his eyes as he smiled a wicked grin. 

Fitzroy didn’t even realize he was smiling at that moment. All he can recall is the swell of power in his veins and the adrenaline of battle pumping through his body. 

Suddenly, that breakfast no longer sounds appetizing. 

“I-I--I don’t want this.” Fitzroy mutters in horror. “If--If I get here by doing _that_ to more people, th-then I don’t want it.” Chaos tuts behind him and places a massive hand on his shoulder, startling Fitzroy with the strange feeling on his bare skin. It feels like static, or when a body part goes numb. They lean in close and suddenly the scene starts moving. 

**_But didn’t it feel_ ** **good** **_to be this powerful? Look at you,_ ** Chaos’s voice whispers in his ear as he watches himself beat off the bandits. Then, when the dust clears, he watches himself be praised by the masses. The slaps on the shoulder, the shouts of good wishes, the _attention_ . All on _him._ **_Look at how much you_ ** **love it** **_. You may try to keep up appearances for everyone else, but_ ** **I** **_know the real you, Fitzroy._ **

They wave their hand in front of the mirror and the scene changes, now to a gilded chariot moving through a crowded street. People are throwing confetti and flower petals at the chariot, cheering wordlessly at the figure inside. The chariot stops and two servants move to open the door, revealing the current version of Fitzroy beaming at the crowd. He steps out of the chariot and waves to the people, the sound slowly building in Fitzroy’s mind until he can hear it loud and clear: 

_Cheers to The Thunder Lord, King Fitzroy Maplecourt! Praise be to him, savior of the universe!_

**_I am not asking you to senselessly kill everyone in your path._ ** Chaos’ voice pierces the cheers, bringing Fitzroy back to the current reality. **_I’m just asking that, when the opportunity arises, to let loose a little! Then, you could have people love you like they do in Dust Field…_ ** The scene changes again, though not by a lot. Instead of King Fitzroy standing amongst a crowd of citizens, it’s _Fitzroy_ standing amongst the citizens of Dust Field. The tableau is near-exact, with Fitzroy receiving the same kinds of cheers and attention like the king version did. 

It’s all so very tempting. The attention, the power, the finery, all of it seems so... _perfect_. 

“I-I--I can’t.” Fitzroy stutters, staring blankly at the scene in the mirror. “It would still mean I’d have to _hurt_ people if a war is involved. A-And if it’s _war_ , then that means innocent people will be hurt and I...I won’t do it for that.” He turns away from the mirror--away from Chaos--and moves to another corner of the room, shaking his head of the voices still ringing in his ears. “I’ve seen enough, Chaos. I’d like to go home.” He faces away from Chaos, expecting some sort of rebuttal or clever comment, but is instead met with absolute silence. It lasts for long enough that Fitzroy thinks they might have disappeared, but when he turns he sees Chaos still standing there. Staring at him. 

“Um...Chaos? Take me home...please?” Fitzroy tries again, preemptively flinching, but is still met with silence. He stares at the deity with confusion until they blink a few times. 

**_...Fitzroy, do you think I’m a fool?_ ** Chaos asks. Fitzroy pauses, unsure whether or not he should answer. **_For trying this hard and receiving...not even a scrap of thanks for it? Do you think I am a fool for this, Fitzroy?_ **

“U-Uh--” 

**_Because you certainly_ ** **act** **_like I am a fool, Fitzroy._ ** Suddenly, they are right in front of him, staring down with beady eyes of pure white. **_I give you all of these--these_ ** **opportunities** **_to grow and learn to love your powers. I give you all of these incentives to grow! A-And yet you_ ** **deny** **_me. Each. And. Every._ ** **Time** **_!_ ** They reach out and grab Fitzroy’s chin with frightening strength, rendering any resistance futile as they turn his head towards the window he’s in front of. **_Look at the world you could_ ** **own** **_, Fitzroy! I’ve yet to show you the best parts of your future! But nooooo little coward Fitzroy doesn’t want to break a few bones to get what he wants!_ ** **That’s** **_new. I am certain if I was talking to Clyde Nite’s Fitzroy he would’ve_ ** **gladly** **_snapped any neck of his peers to get an_ ** **ounce** **_of respect. What changed!? Why do you resist me!? It really is useless, I keep_ ** **telling** **_you this. I’m going to get what I want out of you regardless; why make it so_ ** **difficult** **_for yourself? Just._ ** **Listen** **_. And._ ** **Give in!** Fitzroy pries at the hand on his face, grasping at their staticky skin in a fruitless attempt to free himself. 

“B-Because--I don’t want respect through _force_ !” Fitzroy grits his teeth, charging his hands with electricity and clawing at Chaos’s hand. “T-The _old_ Fitzroy just wanted _respect_ b-because he was hated so much! N-Now I want respect because it’s w-what I _deserve_ ! A-And respect that’s deserved isn’t. Taken. By. **_Force_ **!” His rage slips out, giving him enough power to rip Chaos’s hand in half. 

He falls to the ground when he’s freed, watching Chaos’s hand turn to wisps of smoke in front of him. He pants, regaining his breath and composure, and awaits Chaos’s next move. Surely, given the reaction to his last outburst, this is going to end badly for him.

But when he finally looks up, he sees Chaos is well and truly gone. He slowly gets to his feet, looking cautiously around the room for any signs of the deity. When he sees he’s alone, he lets out a long sigh of relief. 

Then, there’s a knock on the door, a lot sturdier than the one earlier. 

“U-Uh,” Fitzroy coughs, “Come in.” The door opens for the second time today; but instead of Mr. Butler Guy with his breakfast, it’s someone strangely familiar. 

He stands in the doorway with a large bouquet of roses and wildflowers, dressed in a long Naval coat covered in badges and medals. The coat is a dark navy, accented with silver buttons and white trim, and the pants he wears are dark grey. He wears sturdy boots with gold buckles, and as Fitzroy’s eyes move back up he spots a beautiful opal ring on his left hand. Finally, he reaches the face, and this is where the familiarity seeps in. 

Blue skin with patches of visible scales. Sharp teeth in a bright, wide smile. Long, dark hair and an impressive beard. A scar running down his left eye, not marring the light and joy the eyes carry in the slightest. He has a septum ring of pure silver, and when he takes a step forward Fitzroy can smell saltwater in the air. 

It’s Argo. 

“Surprise! I’m home early, my love!” Argo announces, much to Fitzroy’s surprise. 

But he doesn’t have time to question the moment, or the wording, or the flowers, or _Argo_. Because as soon as the words pass through the genasi’s lips, Fitzroy feels a searing pain rip through his chest. Argo’s face immediately changes from one of excitement to one of horror, and Fitzroy looks down to see why. 

The ripping pain through his chest is quite literal, as a hand has ripped through his chest and holds his heart in their sickeningly long fingers. Fitzroy hears the low rumble of Chaos’s laugh as they squeeze, exploding the heart in their hands and making Fitzroy black out. 

The last thing he sees is Argo’s new and terrified face move towards him, shouting: “Fitzroy!” 

Fitzroy…

...Fitz….roy…

…..ro...y…

\---

“ _Roy_!” Argo’s voice shouts as Fitzroy jolts upright, gasping for air and clutching frantically at his chest. Argo watches him, startled, and tries to calm the barbarian down enough to speak. 

Meanwhile, Fitzroy is having one of the most delicious panic attacks he’s ever experienced! And by “delicious”, I mean “holy shit I _am_ going to die right now”. After a lot of self-affirming pats of his chest to make sure his heart is there and functioning, he works on breathing. He can hear Argo speak to him, but he can’t make out a word of what he’s saying. Eventually, he gets himself calm enough for the world to return to clarity, looking exhaustedly at Argo. 

“A..Hey.” Fitzroy croaks out. Argo snorts and carefully places a hand on his shoulder. “Wh...Where am I?” 

“Uh, that’s a great question, buddy!” Argo replies, looking over at a distant light and calling out, “ _Hey_ ! _Over here_!” Fitzroy hears some distant shouts, but isn’t able to pick up on actual words. Argo turns his attention back to the half-elf and smiles. “You went pretty far on yer run, Fitz. People were startin’ to get worried about you, until we saw yer flare. It was pretty hard to track ‘cause you shot it off at an angle, but you’ve got half the town out on the look for ya!” Fitzroy nods drowsily along to Argo’s explanation, distantly feeling bad for making everyone worry but not conscious enough to acknowledge it. 

“Th-Thank you for finding me…” Fitzroy murmurs, smiling tiredly up at Argo. Argo smiles back, the moment becoming quiet and soft, before something comes over the genasi. He shakes his head, patting Fitzroy gently and looking at the ground. 

“It’s nothin’, honestly.” Argo replies, tone coated in an emotion Fitzroy can’t be bothered to understand right now. “We’re pretty far from the group, so y’just need to hold out a little longer until someone can help me carry you back home.” Fitzroy nods, leaning against Argo’s shoulder and letting his head find solace on the crook of his neck. Argo stiffens, but not for long. He adjusts his hold so Fitzroy can lean comfortably against him and nod off, praying that the half-elf isn’t present enough to notice the rapid hammering of his heart. 

Lucky for him, he doesn’t. Fitzroy lets exhaustion take over for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling the smell of saltwater and liquor. 

When he wakes up again, he’s back in bed. _His_ bed, far away from that future and the thoughts it brings.

And in the East, the sun begins to rise, illuminating the new frontier with an orange glow. 

\---

It takes surprisingly little for Rainer and company to convince the Heroic Oversight Guild to let them off school grounds. 

Turns out, the member who was stationed at the school went on the Thundermen’s last real-world mission, along with Rhodes, Mimi, and Moon. So Rhodes was there when the demons attacked the pub--the very last time anyone saw the trio--along with Althea Song. 

Althea seems to know more than she lets on, so when Rhodes explained to her that there’s a possibility of them being alive, she very quickly granted them a carriage right to the crime scene. She even escorted them herself, sending any guards on the premises off on a break the morning they head out. 

“Be safe, and check back as _soon_ as you know a definitive answer,” Althea instructs as the students get out of the carriage. “I don’t want anymore students getting hurt in this...this _mess_ , alright?” The group gives their affirmatives to the elven woman, who shakily smiles back. Then, she departs, leaving the group with their mission: 

Find the Thundermen, find out what’s wrong, and maybe bonk them on the head for not telling anyone. 

“Okay,” Rhodes says, inspecting a particular patch of the clearing. “...Okay. I think I got it.” The group turns to her, having barely gotten themselves together. 

“Already?” Rolandus asks, slinging his pack over his shoulder. Behind him, Buckminster sheaths two daggers and takes a swig of his canteen. He hands it to Leon, who takes a sip before capping it and putting it in his bag (careful to not disturb the wooden box he transported the sapphire necklace to). Rainer is adjusting her sunhat while Zana checks her bag for spell components. 

“Yeah, they did a pretty shit job of covering any _actual_ signs of them moving.” Rhodes explains, tracing the track with her finger into the woods in front of her. “All this viscera...must’ve been to confuse the demons? But why would they follow them…” 

“I suppose we’ll have all the answers to our questions once we find them!” Rainer says, a surprising amount of pep in her voice for the ungodly hour. “Well, are we ready, team?” There is a general noise of affirmation, making Rainer smile ever brighter. “Alrighty, Rhodes! Where do we start?” 

Rhodes gets to her feet and adjusts her bag, eyes trained on a spot in front of her. She looks poised to hunt like a wolf, and she doesn’t turn her head to address Rainer when she says: 

“By my estimate, looks like we’re going West.” 

\---

In the warded office of a certain demon prince, two men sit down and share an _early_ morning drink. 

“Yes, it sounds like those bureaucratic fucks have kept y’quite tied, eh?” The gravelly voice of the Commodore notes with a teasing grin, taking a long drink of his brandy. Grey, sipping delicately at his, nods bitterly. 

“And the worst part is, that changeling _idiot_ continues to be out of my reach!” Grey spits out, setting his glass down to run tense hands through his thinning hair. The Commodore watches him do this with a smirk, inwardly admiring his own healthy hair, and nods. 

“Right, right, the spray’s new crew.” He says, drinking again. “You said you contacted your patron about it, correct? They couldn’t tell you anything?” Grey sighs, looking at the Commodore with an angry smile. 

“Oh no, they told me _something_ . They just chose to speak in riddles because--oh, I don’t know--they don’t _want_ me to do the tasks they send me out to do!” Grey exclaims, the temperature in the room growing hotter as his anger builds. The Commodore scoots back, waving a nervous hand in front of Grey. 

“ _Woah_ , friend. Don’t blow a fuse this early in the morning!” He says with a hearty laugh; one that the demon prince does not reciprocate. The Commodore notices this and tapers off, coughing awkwardly into his hand before continuing. “S-Say, you happen to remember what they told you? I’ve been on the planet long enough to be of _some_ assistance.” This calms Grey some as he reaches into his desk drawer to pull out the note. 

“Read this and let me know if it makes any sense to _you_ ,” Grey says as he hands off the note. The Commodore takes it and reads the single sentence with a thoughtful look, rubbing his chin as he considers it. 

“Hmmm… ‘ _New horizons always head in this direction’_ ...Hm?” He suddenly snaps, pointing at Grey with a smirk. “Do you think they mean West?” Grey stares at the Commodore, vaguely offended that he seems to have gotten to the answer in a mere moment when this has been haunting him for _days_. 

“What...makes you say that?” Grey asks, taking the note back. The Commodore leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his brandy. 

“Well, exploration has typically always gone Westward. When Nua expanded, we expanded _West_. Most of my nautical travels have taken me West, as well.” The Commodore explains simply. It takes a second for Grey to react, but then he slaps a hand to his face and lets out a labored sigh. 

“It was _that_ fucking easy, huh?” 

“Seems so.” The Commodore replies, finishing his brandy and eyeing Grey’s class. “Hey, you gonna finish yer drink?” 

Grey stands up suddenly, starling the Naval captain as he summons a cluster of imps right in front of him. “You listen to me and you listen _good_ , you imbeciles. You go to the sight, you _take_ their _scent_ , and you fly _West_ . Do not stop because you think that’s it--I want you to go as far West as you can _go_ . Go across the whole damn planet, if that’s what it takes! Just take their scent, go West, and **_find. Fitzroy._ **” The imps collectively nod and Grey sighs, sending them off with a wave of his hand. The imps transform before the Commodore’s very eyes, turning into a murder of crows that flies out the open window. Grey moves to his chair before realizing something, summoning one last imp before him. 

“Oh, and if you find the _coward_ and his brother, let me know. I’m having this fucking war whether they like it or **not**.” 

\---

A few towns over, a pair moves quickly through a sea of people onto the Nua Express. The shorter person carefully guides the taller one to a seat, sitting him down first before sitting down himself. They wait for a few minutes in silence, the shorter one patting a beat out on the taller one’s leg. The crowd disperses evenly through the train and the doors shut. A ticket-teller makes her way down the aisle, checking passengers tickets and clearing them with a few clicks of her hole-punch. 

Eventually, she approaches the pair with a smile. 

“Tickets?” She asks, the shorter one fumbling with his coat pocket before producing two tickets. He hands them to the teller with a smile of his own, watching as she punches a few holes before returning them. “Enjoy your ride!”

“Thank you,” the shorter one says, smiling as she walks away. With her gone, he finally feels it’s safe enough to address his brother. 

“It’s okay, Hiero. We’re gonna be okay.” He whispers to his brother, watching Hieronymous look at him with a relatively blank expression. Higglemas smiles despite this, maintaining the morale for the two of them. “We’re going somewhere new...Somewhere far, far away from this…” 

The train comes to life with a piercing blow of its whistle, taking the brothers Westward to new beginnings.

\---

Three units move in perfect harmony towards the eye of the storm. 

Within it, the Thundermen sleep peacefully, unaware of what is to come in the weeks ahead. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argo confesses. The Firbolg hatches a plan. Fitzroy feels something new. 
> 
> One week passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOWOWOWOWOW!!!!!! i did this LITERALLY all in one go (well, minus like. a page and a half but that wasn't even a whole scene so i'm counting it as all done in one) because i. honestly? i don't know! i drank a lot of redbull though so wahoo wahoo wahoo!!!! 
> 
> i am VERY excited for the chapters to come. like, chapters 7 and 8 are going to SLAP!!! chapter 9??? ohohohoho brother!!! we're goin stupid crazy man!!!!! hopefully i can get another chapter relatively soon, since classes end in like. 3 weeks? not even man. i'm so tired. anyways
> 
> fanart shoutouts!!!! remember to tag me (@fitzroythecreator on tumblr.ass) if you want to be shouted out! these are all matthew this chapter bc he Is insane 
> 
> [this one of last chapter](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/631234395021377536/this-guy-be-breaking-his-own-heart-at-a-statue), [this one Also of last chapter](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/631028534412984320/time-for-your-government-sanctioned-ssoss-kind), [some sad argo](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/633747323711848448/this-problems-all-your-own-fabrication-dude), [more sad argo](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/633906584878235648/blue-roses-something-about-attaining-the), [and this epic redraw of the haircutting scene from chapter 1](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/634646936294768640/king-of-drawing-the-same-thing-5-months-apart)!!!! wowowowow everyone go follow @accesscodex on tumblr please give him some love he is epic and i love him very much 
> 
> ummm with that all said, this was Not really edited bc my body is failing on me and also i just want to stop looking at it now. but please enjoy!!!!!

Argo wakes up from his fitful slumber and realizes he’s tossed himself onto the floor in his sleep, legs tangled amidst the sheets and arms splayed in muscle-aching positions. He slowly untangles himself and crawls back into bed, but finds the remaining dregs of sleep have already left him. He lays there for a few minutes, breathing slowly as he rearranges everything that happened the night before. 

He hadn’t thought anything was amiss when he came home and noticed Fitzroy wasn’t there. The former knight was still a little too dedicated to retaining his physique and would frequently go on night runs or lift weights on the roof (don’t ask why he chooses the roof to lift, Argo doesn’t know either). He would usually try and wait around for the half-elf to return, occupying himself with some mindless chore or hobby until he heard the telltale thumps of Fitzroy’s feet in the hallway. Then, he would dash away to his room, letting whatever remainder of worry leech out when the front door swung open. 

But last night was different. Argo got home late from work (later than usual, as he spent some time helping Lyra organize stock in the kitchen) and kept himself occupied as usual, but something didn’t feel...right. Fitzroy was never out _this_ late running. Maybe he was on the roof? Argo ran up quickly to check and found the rooftop barren, just as he suspected. With his worries mounting, he climbed down the steps. Which is when he bumped into Jenny--frazzled, exasperated Jenny--who quickly informed him that Sheriff Jasper saw a signal flare go off in the distance. He and the Firbolg quickly threw on coats and took off with Jenny and the crowd of Dust Field residents who were scouting for the lost man, worry and guilt quickly meshing in Argo’s gut and forming a stone that he couldn’t dislodge. It wasn’t until he saw Fitzroy’s body sprawled out on the ground, head beside a rock and speckled with a little blood, that that stone sunk further. Argo dashed over to his body and immediately saw signs of life, but his face was twisted in pain. His eyelids fluttered and his mouth twitched. Argo remembered the last time he saw Fitzroy like this. 

The last time he watched Fitzroy nearly die. 

Argo did his best to try and wake the barbarian from whatever dream was paining him, and was successful in doing so. Fitzroy trembled like a newborn faun, obviously trying to save face but failing miserably. Argo let Fitzroy rest on him and waited for others to come help carry him back to safety. Once back in their apartment, Argo was given some pain medication and extra head wrappings from the town doctor, who informed him on how to treat a concussion and to contact her if anything went awry. The Firbolg laid Fitzroy down in his bed and the two watched him sleep for a while, neither willing to leave just yet. Eventually, the Firbolg decided to go sleep in the living room and left Argo beside Fitzroy’s bed. He would’ve liked to stay there all night--maybe make some joke about how this is the third time they’ve been in this position--but his heart told him no. It would hurt too much to see those sleepy eyes look up at him. To know that whatever smile he cracked as he regained consciousness would not be all for _him_ , but for another.

He let his hand glide down Fitzroy’s face one last time before going to his own room to sleep.

Now, he lays in bed and thinks of that face, so peaceful in its resting. He’s probably still asleep. 

It probably wouldn’t hurt to check on him, right? For the concussion?

With little time to let himself think, Argo rolls out of bed and exits his room.

Upon entering the main room, he sees the Firbolg still asleep on the carpet, Fitzroy’s crocheted blanket laying gently atop his massive frame. A small smile finds its way onto Argo’s face and he shakes his head, tiptoeing carefully to the half-elf’s room down the hallway. Though it was now Monday, Argo doubts any of them will need to come into work today, so it might be better to let the big guy sleep. 

He quietly pushes open the door to Fitzroy’s room and peeks inside. Relief floods through him when he sees the barbarian still asleep and snoring softly. With his task completed, he really _should_ go back to his room and wait for the Firbolg to wake up…

But Argo, against his better judgement, creeps inside. Just to be certain. 

Upon further inspection, Argo notes how Fitzroy hasn’t moved an inch since being laid down late last night. His head is still propped with nearly every pillow in his arsenal, the wrapping around his head forcing his hair to stick out in odd ways. His face looks neither contented nor pained--just a blank expression as he snoozes. Argo’s thankful that he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. He looks over at the empty glass of water on the nightstand--which was definitely filled when he last saw it, meaning Fitzroy must have woken up at some point--and waves his hand over the top of it. Water forms from his palm and quietly fills the glass to the brim with fresh, cold water. With that all done, Argo has no other reason to be in the room, so he exits in roguelike quiet and makes it back out into the living room. 

“Ah….good morning Ar-go-naut.” The Firbolg’s gruff, sleep-ridden voice startles Argo out of his quiet concentration. He looks to see the Firbolg sitting up, blanket draped over his shoulder (or, what the blanket can _reach_ of his shoulders) and looking at Argo with tired eyes. Argo chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, a little embarrassed that he got caught coming out of Fitzroy’s room. 

“O-Oh! G’mornin’ Firby!” Argo replies with forced cheeriness. “I-I’m sorry if I woke ya,” 

“You...did not. I was already trying to...wake up anyway…” The Firbolg says, his head starting to sag as he nearly falls asleep again. He catches himself, suddenly jerking his head up, but then his head starts making its slow descent directly after. “Is...Fitzroy awake?” 

“Oh, no, he’s not--He’s still asleep.” Argo states before he realizes what it looks like--coming out of Fitzroy’s room when the last place the Firbolg saw him was in there _last night_ \--and blushes. “I-I wasn’t in there all night, though! I was just--Well I woke up early, and I couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause of th’ fact that I fell off the bed, and then I was worried about the concussion. J-Just so you know I was--I only went in there to check on him! I went to bed in my _own_ bed, though! It--” 

“Argo.” Argo shuts his mouth instantly, wishing he could be struck with a lightning bolt or something to end him now. The Firbolg studies his face for a moment and a smile begins to spread as he rumbles out a laugh. “I know this.” 

“Oh.” Argo says, expression blank. The Firbolg chuckles under his breath. “...Well! I ought to be goin’ I suppose. Don’t think Lyra needs me in the bar today, but I’m gonna go check to besurebyeFirby--” Before Argo is able to dash out of the door in his pajama pants and no shirt, the Firbolg holds out a hand. 

“Wait,” The Firbolg calls out, voice a little louder than usual. Argo does exactly that, turning to the larger fellow expectantly. The Firbolg seems nervous, which is unusual, and he looks at the genasi through his bangs and asks, “Sit?” Argo notes the plea folded in the layers of his baritone and something grips Argo’s heart and squeezes. 

How long has it been since they’ve just hung out? 

He quietly pads over to the couch and sits down next to the Firbolg, who remains on the floor. Despite the difference in levels, the Firbolg still towers over Argo’s seated form, making the tableau amusing from an outside perspective. Neither of them say anything for a bit; the Firbolg picks at his forest green nightshirt, purchased after Fitzroy begged him to stop sleeping in his work clothes, while Argo stares at the ceiling and lets go of any troubling thoughts that concern his brain. The early morning light spills through the window in the kitchen, casting most of the room in a breathtaking glow. Their apartment is angled awkwardly, so the only window they have (other than the one in both bathrooms) is the one in the kitchen. It means most of the living room doesn’t need artificial light, which the Firbolg takes specific delight in. He’ll usually leave the lights off if he’s alone, existing on the light Nature supplies. Just like old times. 

“This is...nice.” The Firbolg mutters. “It has been a while since we have… ‘hung-out’, hm?” He doesn’t look at Argo, but the rogue is used to the lack of eye contact from him. It was often easier for the Firbolg to focus on what he was saying if he was looking straight ahead, rather than staring someone in the face. Still, the question brought a saddened smile to his face. 

“Yeah, it has…” Argo replies, trailing off. He leans back on the couch and laughs to himself. “It’s funny, y’know? Feels like we had more time when we were students to just chill! And we were dealing with grades and tests and real world missions and mind control and that fuckin’ _apple_ ! Now, it’s just...I dunno.” Argo sighs. “I’m happy, y’know? In a sorta tangential way, like I realize how good it is to be here in this situation rather than back at the school. But it’s still weird…Like, we all work near _daily_ , and I--I love my job! It’s the closest feelin’ I’ve had to being on a ship with a crew in. In years! But it’s made us all drift apart.” The Firbolg nods along to Argo’s words. 

“The Thunderman Corporation has become a...de-funct business venture.” He says somberly, voicing the fears that have been rattling around his head for a few weeks. Argo hears this and immediately tries to console the big fella, patting him on the shoulder and shaking his head. 

“No! Hey, hey, hey! Don’t think like that, buddy! W-We--We’re still a team!” Argo insists. “We may be a little preoccupied right now, but don’t--don’t think we’ve all forgotten about how we got here. A-At least _I_ don’t! An--And Fitzroy, he--Well, he...he knows! We’re all still around for each other, Firby, c’mon!” 

“You did not finish your thought.” The Firbolg says, causing Argo to pause in confusion. “Fitzroy. He...has forgotten us. You did not want to say this, but is true.” He still hasn’t turned to Argo, but the genasi can still see the way he curls in on himself. He wishes he could say something to soothe his fears, but that would mean lying to his own. He moves his hand away and sits back on the couch, a depressing silence settling over the two of them. 

“You two are not doing good, hm?” The Firbolg asks after a while. Argo looks to him with a tilt of his head. The Firbolg has turned enough to glance at Argo out of the corner of his eye, grey-green irises carrying a somber understanding. “You bicker. Something is wrong, yes?” Argo flushes, not realizing their issues were that apparent to the third member of the group, but he cannot escape the piercing stare of his friend. He sighs and nods. 

“I fucked up and did something I shouldn’t have, back at Wiggenstaff’s,” Argo quietly admits, hunched over himself so his arms were resting on his knees and he could look down at the ground. “I...I was involved in a secret organization in the school that was...Well, I honestly don’t know what they were meant to do, now that I think about it. But my Ma used to be a member before she died, so I felt an obligation t’carry on her legacy. And I...I messed up. My first mission with the group was to look into Fitzroy’s life and try to learn where his magic came from.” The memory springs tears in his eyes that he attempts to subtly wipe away. 

“I should have told them no. I-I should have asked _why_ ! But I was starry-eyed, and naive, an-and _stupid_ ...And I ruined what me and Fitzroy could have had before it even began… When Fitzroy was cursed, I told him _everything_ . L-Like I was confessing my sins before the pearly gates! B-Because I thought if he just...knew _everything_ then maybe he’d come back. A-And he did! Only thing was he heard the whole thing, and when we finally had time to chat about it--that first night in Dust Field--he blew up in my face. Which I totally _deserved_ , but I...I broke his trust, Firby. And I can’t get that back. No matter how much I want to.” Silence hangs in the air for a moment, and then Argo feels a hand rest firmly on his back. It nearly knocks him over, but registers it as the comforting pats of the Firbolg and lets a teary smile grace his lips. 

“When I...was kicked from clan, I felt very lost.” The Firbolg starts, to Argo’s surprise. “I had broken clan rules, and for that I felt deep...deep shame. But, in time, I learned...is okay to make mistakes.” Argo looks up to see the Firbolg smiling at him. “You had good in-ten-tions. You had a job. Fitzroy...should understand.” Argo shakes his head. 

“He doesn’t _need_ to understand, though, Bud. He’s entitled to his distrust of me! I-I violated him by digging into his past!” 

“I never said he has to forgive.” The Firbolg continues, nodding sagely. “I said he should un-der-stand. Sometimes, good people do bad things. We cannot change this.” He removes his hand from Argo’s back and folds them both on his lap. Turning away, his eyes become glassy with a memory. “There was saying, back in clan: ‘Mushroom grows on all soil, even on blood-soaked ground.’ We cannot change our mistakes, those are past. What is important is now. Fixing now. There is still...room for growth…” He turns his head towards Fitzroy’s room. “It has been two months since that con-ver-sa-tion, hm?” Argo follows his gaze but doesn’t register he’s being asked a question until the Firbolg turns to him again. Argo jolts and nods his head. “You should try again. Apologize for the past. Work for future. That...will make it better, I think.” 

Argo wishes it was that simple. But there’s far more than just a past grievance standing between the two. It’s like they were standing on a fault line, waiting and waiting for an earthquake to finally rip them apart. Argo waited too long to try and mend the wound--to cross the line--and now he’s miles apart. The crag between them is deep and dangerous--if he tried to jump it he would surely lose himself to despair. As sad as it is, there’s nothing Argo can about it now. _Especially_ now. 

“I-I--” Argo tries to speak, but he loses his voice to warble in his throat. He coughs and tries again. “I wish I could, Firbolg. I really wish I could, but...it’s too complicated now. I-I’d only make things worse if I tried.” The Firbolg makes a noise, but then he turns back and cocks his head to one side. 

“You are...conflicted by something else, eh?” Argo blushes and laughs in an attempt to sway the knowing stare. 

“H-How come yer all ‘all-knowing Firbolg’ this mornin’, huh? I-It’s nothin’.” He teases, but the joke is lost in his nervous waver, and eventually he feels himself crumble under his friend’s eyes.

As much as he once swore he would never tell Master Firbolg about any of this stuff, he can’t help but feel a little trapped in his own head. His heart still aches beyond reason, despite his previous thought that it would subside with time. But it just sits and festers day after day, clawing up his throat and burning holes in his gut. He sits up at night and pretends he can’t hear Fitzroy’s voice reverberating around his head, laughing softly in his ear, sighing against his neck. He burns with the fires of unrequited love, and the burden of it is starting to wear on his sensibilities. So, yeah, maybe it would be...nice to admit it to someone else. Someone he can trust. Someone who understands, just a bit, what it’s like to be an outcast with a very small amount of trusted people. 

“I’m in love with him.” Argo mutters before he could regret it. The Firbolg quirks an impressive brow, making Argo squirm. That didn’t feel right. Damnit! Maybe this was a mistake. He takes in a sharp breath and tries again. “I--I’m in love with Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt. Okay? That’s--Now you know.” Argo looks away before he can see the Firbolg judge him, and is almost mortified to hear him laughing quietly to himself. Argo whips his head around, infuriated, but pauses when he sees the mirth in the forest dweller’s eyes. 

“Argo, I know this.” The Firbolg states, Argo blanching at the words. “Is...he re-cip-ro-cates, yes?” 

“Wh-- _No_ !” Argo shouts, immediately slapping both hands over his mouth at the volume. He waits a pregnant pause to hear if he accidentally woke up the barbarian, and when silence responds his sighs and moves his hands. “I-I--What I _meant_ to say was _no_ , Firby, we aren’t. He doesn’t reciprocate. That’s my...that’s my problem with trying to mend things.” The Firbolg hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

“I had assumed it was a… ‘lover’s quar-rel’. I was wrong.” Argo blushes and shakes his head almost violently. 

“N-No, it’s not that. I-I wish! Honestly, I do! But he’s...he has eyes on another…” Argo trails off, once again burdened with his sorrows. The Firbolg tilts his head, silently urging him to continue, and Argo is powerless to stop his thoughts from flowing forth. “I-It’s Wyatt. I mean, it feels pretty obvious to me, with how they always hang around each other. A-And the way they look at each other...i-it’s not gonna be me who gets Fitzroy’s heart. And I’m fine with that, y’know! I just want him to be _happy_ , and he’s really happy here! People respect him, he has friends, he has _him_ . I wasn’t meant to fit in there...Maybe one day we can be friends again, and I could live happily with that. B-But I--I love him, and it fucking _sucks_.” His eyes flick over to Fitzroy’s room--images of the night prior flashing in front of him again--and he winces. “He’ll come to me when he’s ready to make amends, I just have to be patient.” 

The Firbolg opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by Argo suddenly standing up and moving on autopilot towards Fitzroy’s room. He stops himself mid-walk and turns back around to the Firbolg, embarrassed. 

“I’m just gonna check on him again, make sure his bandages aren’t on too tight n’ stuff. A-And then I can start breakfast? If you want?” Argo says, eyes pleading with the Firbolg to let it go. The hulking man stares at Argo for a moment, then nods. Argo lets out the breath he was holding, flashing the Firbolg a thumbs up, and heads to Fitzroy’s room. 

And in the living room, the Firbolg feels more alone than he’s felt in his whole life. But he isn’t sad. 

No, he’s determined. These mushrooms _will_ grow, even if it takes a little forced germination. 

\---

Sunlight streaks through the treetops as the group makes their journey through the deep forest. It is the dawn of the second day of their possible-weeks-long trek to find their missing friends, and morale is still high and hopeful. Rhodes has been hot on the trail since early Monday morning, leading the group with a wild determination. Leon and Rainer trail not far behind Rhodes, both being able to keep up with the ranger’s impossible pace. Zana, Rolandus, and Buckminster lag at the back of the group; Rolandus routinely begs for breaks that go unheard by the rest while Buckminster and Zana make a slew of forest-related puns. They have made stops when needed to eat or sleep, but mostly they try to keep moving, Rhodes warning them that the scent might die if they dilly-dally for too long. 

Leon has enjoyed this journey so far. It’s nice to be able to walk with human legs, instead of hopping around as a fucking falcon. It’s equally as nice to be surrounded by his friends, even though the situation is a little odd. Most of all, he’s glad the trip has been relatively quiet because he doesn’t know how long he could make idle chatter before the inevitable question about his whereabouts would remerge. 

Since being changed back, the question has popped up sparingly. Mostly because of the Thundermen’s supposed death, but every time he’s had to answer he struggles. Sure, his alibi is solid--thanks to Higglemas--but he’s _ass_ at lying. 

Especially to Buckminster. 

Leon turns just enough to see the trio behind him, watching his little brother carefully stick a twig in Rolandus’ hair without the paladin noticing. He smiles to himself and turns back around, maintaining his steady pace. 

The hardest part about leaving was knowing Buckminster would never know what happened. _Could_ never know, since Higglemas pretty cleanly wiped his memory. But still, that is the first time in--gods, _years_ \--that Leon has left Buckminster’s side for a significant amount of time. He knows the younger man doesn’t know the truth of their bond, but his heart certainly feels it. Leon thinks back to how tightly Buckminster hugged him when he came into the cafe that morning, how he seemed so relieved yet so _confused_. Leon nearly broke right there and told him everything, but he retained control. That night, after the funeral proceedings, Buckminster sat in Leon’s bed and talked into the wee hours of the morning. About life, about the things Leon missed, about memories they share, about anything. Leon let him talk and chimed in when he could, but eventually he found the rogue lagging and leaning into the fighter’s waiting arms. Holding his brother in his arms, he tried to tell himself it was worth it, to do it all. 

Now, amidst the woods--looking for three people he knows have been alive this entire time--he isn’t sure. 

“Hey, Leon?” Rainer’s voice startles Leon out of his thoughts, and he turns to the necromancer with a bashful smile. 

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, did you say something?” Leon asks, rubbing the back of his bald head with a nervous laugh. Rainer’s mouth is tilted into a frown, but she shakes it off and smiles in turn. 

“Nothing, bud. Just checkin’ up on ya!” She replies. Leon nods and laughs again, turning his head back to the forest ahead. 

Buckminster’s laugh rings through the woods, followed by Rolandus’ shouts, and Leon tries to ignore the guilt looming over his shoulder. 

\---

It takes a day before the Firbolg can get some time alone with Jenny to talk, but he finally stands in front of the door to Jenny and Lyra’s apartment Wednesday night. He knocks once--loud and solid--and Jenny’s muffled shouts can be heard before the door opens. Lyra greets him at the door, nearly white irises taking a moment to reach the Firbolg’s face before she smiles and opens the door wider. 

“Come in, Bud. Jenny’s just making some tea in the kitchen; come make yourself at home!” She says, stepping aside and giving the lumbering man the space to enter. The Firbolg smiles at her and comes in, closing the door behind him as he takes in the scenery of the Parker-Ross/Ross-Parker residence. 

A colorful carpet lays on the floor in the main living space, pairing nicely with the cream couch and lavender purple armchair they have. Pictures of the two together, residents, and people the Firbolg doesn’t recognize line the walls; along with small portraits and paintings that look handmade. There’s a line of bookshelves that faces the couch, an army of books crammed into every inch. The Firbolg can see Jenny through the large cut-out opening above the island, her freckled, muscular shoulders visible as she faces the stove. The Firbolg makes his way over to the couch just as Lyra settles on the loveseat, his frame taking up nearly the entire couch and causing the wood to groan just a bit. 

Not a lot. Just a bit. 

Lyra chitters twice, curling up as Ferdinand comes bounding out of the bedroom and hopping up into the changeling’s lap. Ferdinand is a rat, but he’s not _just_ a rat, as the Firbolg has learned from Jenny. The rat was being used in magical testing, and one of those tests happened to grow the rat into the size of the average possum. Lyra adopted him at a young age, feeling a kindred spirit in this outcast of an animal, and now she doesn’t know where she’d be without her rodent friend. Ferdinand’s fur is a pure white covered in dark brown spots, but the grouping and size of the spots makes it look like he’s a white rat who got covered in mud. His beady red eyes bulge at the sight of his mother, and the little bell around his pink ribbon tingles as he settles in Lyra’s lap. 

The Firbolg looks at Ferdinand with a smile. He loves all animals, and he especially loves when an animal is so obviously loved by others. Then, he startles when he hears a mew beside him, turning to see a hairless cat perched on the armrest and gazing up at him with wide eyes. The cat looks like a hairless one, but the Firbolg can see there is a coat of baby-hair covering the animal, liking making it the runt of its litter. It is black-and-white with piercing blue eyes, and when the Firbolg holds out a massive hand for it to sniff, the cat immediately bonks its head into him. 

“Oh, it seems he likes you,” Lyra muses with a fond smile. “We just got him a few days ago from a shelter in Meadowbrook. We named him Parsnip, he’s an absolute baby.” Ferdinand shifts in her lap and looks up at his mother with an almost disapproving stare, causing Lyra to laugh and pat him placatingly. “You’re still _my_ baby, baby. Stop pouting at me!” The rat does a few circles in her lap and settles again as Parsnip jumps past the Firbolg and settles on the remaining bit of couch cushion. Jenny steps out of the kitchen holding a tray with the necessary tea items and sets it down on the coffee table, smiling at the Firbolg. 

“Glad you could make it, Bud!” She says, pulling the Firbolg up into a hug that he reciprocates immediately. Once she steps away, she looks and realizes she won’t be able to join him on the couch, so she chooses to perch on the armrest of the loveseat for now. “So, somethin’ on yer mind, young man? Why’d you need to have this meeting so darn bad? Not that I mind, of course, but you seem...troubled.” The Firbolg nods, remembering the reason why he came to the women’s delightful home, and nervously grasps his pants. 

“I...need help.” The Firbolg says nervously. “With Roy and Aaron. I have...learned something im-por-tant, and I think it is way to fix clan.” Jenny leans forward in anticipation, urging him silently to continue. The Firbolg looks away--almost ashamed that he’s revealing information so intimate--but ultimately his determination to mend the problem weighs out his conscience. “Aaron...is in love. With Roy.” Jenny and Lyra gasp in unison, though it was mostly for show. In truth, the two ladies had sleuthed out this information a while ago and were simply waiting for more to be revealed. “And he thinks Roy does not...re-cip-ro-cate because of Wyatt.” 

“Wait, they’re not already dating?” Lyra says at the same time as Jenny exclaims: 

“Wyatt?” The two turn to each other, smile, and then turn back to the Firbolg. “Hold on, Bud, slow down. Well, actually _don’t_ slow down ‘cause you go slow enough, but--Aaron thinks Roy won’t reciprocate because of _Wyatt_? What does that mean?” The Firbolg shrugs. 

“He thinks Roy and Wyatt are a ‘thing’. I do not know why this is.” That seems to throw Jenny for a loop, bringing a hand up to her chin in deep contemplation while Lyra tuts to herself. 

“Damn shame if that’s true; I know for a fact Zephyr’s been a lovesick puppy behind that boy since the twins got here.” She notes with a shake of her head, stroking Ferdinand idly. Jenny nods. 

“I mean, they _have_ gotten closer since the whole bandit business, but I had assumed they were just bein’ buddy-buddy! Maybe my intuition was wrong?” As soon as she has that thought, she shakes her head defiantly. “Nah, nah, my intuition ain’t _ever_ been incorrect! Wyatt may have it bad for Roy, but I know for damn _sure_ that Roy and Aaron are soul-bound. There ain’t no way they ain’t! I just--” She huffs in frustration, reaching out to intertwine her fingers with Lyra’s open hand. “How the hell are we gonna fix this? If Aaron thinks there’s something there, he’s less likely to want to make amends with Roy in the first place--” 

“--He’s already been distancing himself at the bar.” Lyra chimes in. 

“--Thank you, honey. And if he ain’t gonna fix the problems between ‘em, then they’re just gonna be caught in this endless cycle of bitchin’ and moanin’! I mean, Roy bitches significantly _less_ since the bandit situation, but I don’t like the way it’s driven a wedge between y’all! Makes...makes me sad.” She frowns, squeezing Lyra’s hand to prevent herself from getting too emotional. 

She’s tried to keep her distance from getting to the root of Roy’s emotional problems since being electrocuted. Not because she’s scared of him or anything! More because she’s scared _for_ him. The look of panic and betrayal on his face before his magic zapped her is still imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. She sees it when she sleeps--the face of someone whose trust has been defiled. She doesn’t _ever_ want Roy to feel that way around her again, but this current situation puts her at a loss. What can she do without interfering directly? If only there was a way she could just-- _force_ them to talk it out, like that dust storm did to Jenny and Lyra before they started dating. 

Wait a minute.

A wicked grin splits across Jenny’s face. 

“Hey, dear, Meadowbrook is still wantin’ to do that big celebration for the bandits being thoroughly scared off, right?” Jenny asks her wife, turning to her with that mischievous gaze. Lyra looks up at her, confused. 

“Uh, yeah?” She replies before turning to the Firbolg and explaining. “Neither town has heard hide nor hair of the bandits since Roy scared them off, so they want to celebrate a ‘new chapter in Western living’ by throwing a big gala or some shit. City Council was firmly against contributing to any party in Meadowbrook, so Meadowbrook’s council conceded in letting us throw the party on our turf. But I don’t see how…” Lyra starts, but then she gets it. Like a psychic link between lovers, a similarly evil expression crosses the changeling’s features. “Oh, baby, that is _dastardly_.” 

“I am confused.” The Firbolg says, feeling the panic of not understanding creep up his spine. “Why are you looking like this?” Jenny picks up on his anxieties and stands, crossing over to him quickly. 

“My firbolg friend, we have roughly two and a half weeks to execute Plan Get The Dinguses To Kiss. All _you_ need to do is to make sure they’re on _decent_ speaking terms in that amount of time and leave the rest to us,” Jenny explains with dramatic flourish. “If there’s one thing that can get two idiots in close quarters, it’s a barn jam-packed with dancing friends and strangers! Trust me on this. I _will_ get your clan on good terms, so long as my name is Jenny Matchmaker Parker-Ross!” Her excitement and words of affirmation soothe the Firbolg’s residual fears, and he finds himself smiling a wide smile like the rest of them. 

“That is full name? You are match-maker?” The Firbolg asks. Jenny laughs and shakes her head. 

“Not technically, thouuuugh--” 

“--Not on your life, Parker.”

“-- _Fine_.” Jenny pouts, causing the other two to laugh. “Anyways--shit! The tea! That shit gon’ get cold!” Jenny grabs the teapot and starts pouring it into the awaiting mugs.

And so the three chatted ideas over tea, and the Firbolg went home a little lighter that night. He came home to a quiet apartment, but that was okay. 

Things were very quickly about to change. 

\---

Argo walks into The Silver Spurs Thursday evening, smiling at the tieflings lounging at the counter. Nikolai hops the counter and nearly tackles Argo in a hug, even though it’s been a few hours since they saw the genasi last. Zephyr walks around the counter like a normal person and pats Argo on the arm, secretly as happy to see the genasi as his sibling but more skilled at hiding it. 

“Geez, yer actin’ like I haven’t been here in weeks!” Argo laughs as Nikolai steps away from him. They pout dramatically. 

“It feels like it! Fantasy Christ, _sorry_ if I miss my very good friend Aaron!” They whine, snickering when Argo rolls his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , I _guess_ you can come sit down and let me know what the fuck you want. Since you were so damn cryptic during lunch today.” They gesture to their chair--the chair Argo usually gets his work done at--and Argo walks over. He sits back on the plush leather seat just as Nikolai hops onto their stool, wiggling a bit as Argo gets himself comfortable. Zephyr walks over slowly, sighing deeply. 

“Sorry for them, they just had an energy drink and it makes them go silly mode,” Zephyr explains. Nikolai laughs to themself and wags a finger at him.

“Not _one_ energy drink, brother, but three!” Nikolai corrects, morphing their voice into a posh accent that makes Argo snort. “And I guarantee that, though I _am_ sufficiently silly mode, I will _not_ do any artwork a disservice on your skin!” 

“Thank the gods for that,” Zephyr mutters, loud enough for Nikolai to hear. They make an offended noise and throws a balled up piece of paper at him from their wastebasket, which Zephyr deftly avoids. Argo watches Zephyr pick it back up and throw it back, thus starting a paper war that he spectates for a minute or so. 

The rambunctious nature of it all makes Argo’s heart warm. He loves all of his friends plenty, but there’s something about Nikolai and Zephyr that make him feel so...at home. They bounce off of each other in a way that is familiar to the sailor-at-heart, and he often thinks of his time at sea when he hangs around the two. It’s a little bittersweet, as that crew is no longer his, but he cherishes the memories regardless. 

And then Argo gets hit in the head with a ball of paper, and the memories fade. Zephyr looks petrified that he hit Argo, while Nikolai continues to snicker to themself. Argo shakes his head and tosses the ball into the garbage can in the corner of the parlor. 

“I’m calling a truce, as I would like t’not be in here the whole night,” Argo announces. 

“Liar. You love it here.” Nikolai teases, slapping him on the arm. 

“This is true, but I haven’t had dinner yet, so I’d like t’go back home eventually.” Nikolai huffs, but ultimately gives in and composes themself. 

“So, the piece you wanted? Where and what?” Nikolai asks, grabbing their sketchbook as they do so. Argo looks at his inked arm and turns it over so his wrist is facing the sky. 

“I have this space here,” Argo points at his wrist, trailing it up the wave pattern he has three-quarters of the way down his forearm, “that I’d like to do something with.” Nikolai nods, wordlessly asking him to continue. “Oh--Oh right, the design. Uh, now...d-don’t laugh, but I was thinking if it was possible to have a tattoo...follow the line of your veins? ‘Cause the ones I got here,” Argo traces the dark blue lines of his veins, “almost look like lightning? A-And I think it would be an interesting piece to have, like, lightning streaking out and hitting the water that I have further up. Is--Is that too weird?” 

“Not at all!” Nikolai replies, their eyes dancing with excitement. From Argo’s other side, Zephyr nods in approval. 

“Nah, that sounds sick as hell, honestly,” He says. Argo smiles and lets go of the embarrassment he had earlier over the idea. 

“Do you want me to do the usual blue, like the rest of your tats?” Nikolai asks, moving Argo’s arm towards them so they could trace Argo’s veins with their finger. 

“I-I was actually wondering if we could do yellow? I feel like it would stand out against my skin in a really cool way,” Argo replies, rubbing at the back of his head with his free hand. Gods, it’s gotten long. Maybe he should cut it. Though, the last time he got it cut was when-- 

“Oh yeah, yellow is gonna be _sick_ on your skin!” Nikolai steers the genasi’s train of thought before it could crash right into the Fitzroy-shaped wall in his mind. He sighs and nods, thankful for the mild distraction, and watches Nikolai quickly draw up a few roughs on their sketchpad. Zephyr eventually decides to pull up a stool beside Nikolai, so Argo won’t have to constantly turn back and forth during conversation. 

“Soooooooo…” Nikolai starts, looking at their brother and nodding emphatically towards Argo. “ _Sooooooooooooo_ …” 

“Fucking o--okay. So, Aaron, our birthdays are next week,” Zephyr says, rolling his eyes at his sibling. Argo’s eyebrows jump up in surprise. 

“Oh, really? Why didn’t ya tell me sooner? I gotta find a gift!” He exclaims, the twins laughing at his enthusiasm. 

“You’re honestly fine, bro, don’t sweat it.” Nikolai says, focused on their work. “ _Buuut_ we’re throwing a party at the shop-slash-our-place-upstairs next week, and we were wondering if you wanted to come!” Argo looks incredulously at the pair, his heart twisting and squeezing in strange ways. 

He never had friends to celebrate a birthday with, truth be told. Sure, he had his crew way back when, but they were more like family. But in those years that he was alone, birthdays sort of floated by without his recognition. He was 12 one moment, and the next he was 22. The “friends” he made during that time never invited him anywhere, either. Mostly, he was an accessory. A tool. An add-on. 

So to be not only appreciated by these people, but to be invited to celebrate their birthday with them? It was...new. It was _nice_. 

“Of course I’ll come to yer birthday party!” Argo shouts, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. The two smile wide in response, Nikolai doing a little dance in their chair as they celebrate being able to hang out with one of their favorite people on their special day. “I-I’ve never _been_ invited to a birthday party, other than kid ones, I gotta--Oh, I _definitely_ have to find a gift now! A-And booze, do you guys want booze for your party? Probably not ‘cause Nikolai’s sober, right? B-But still, I suppose for the guests-- _oh_ who else is coming? I gotta actually--I should probably see if Roy and Bud wanna coordinate on outfits, since Roy really--” A groan cuts off Argo’s spiraling speech, and he turns to see Zephyr looking at the ceiling. 

“Do we _really_ have to invite that guy?” Zephyr groans again. Nikolai rolls their eyes as they start to prep their needles. 

“ _Yes_ , Zeph, we aren’t just going to leave out one of Aaron’s roommates.” Nikolai reminds him, looking to Argo with an apologetic expression. “Don’t mind him; he’s just being a bitchbaby about having Roy around.” 

“What’s wrong w Ro-- _oh_...r-right,” Argo almost forgot. How nice it is to forget the one you love is with another man, huh? What ignorant bliss. 

“Yeah, right _is_ right. You seen how those two are practically glued to each other nowadays?” Zephyr comments with disdain. “I don’t fucking get it. Roy seems like a--like a prick! What the fuck does _he_ have that I haven’t had this entire time!?” 

“Well, Roy’s different!” Argo replies, cringing when he realizes what he just implied. “N-Not that you’re bad or anything! J-Just that Roy is not...not _you_ , y’know?” Zephyr crosses his arms and turns away, his hair hiding the sad expression on his face. 

“I’m well aware of what he is and what I’m not,” He says, voice bitter and sad. Argo looks away, kicking himself for saying that at all, and the shop goes silent for a bit. Eventually, Zephyr sighs, wipes his face, and turns back around. “I-I’m sorry, Aaron, I was--you’re right. Roy _is_ different than me; that is very fucking obvious and I shouldn’t have taken that as an offensive remark. I’m still a little--it hurts still, and I just don’t get what’s so special about that guy.” Argo reaches his arm out and pats Zephyr’s knee with an apologetic smile. 

“I should’ve watched how I phrased that--it’s not just yer fault,” Argo replies, earning himself a small smile from the tiefling in return. He moves his arm back to the armrest, seeing Nikolai ready with the tattooing gun, and watches the yellow ink pierce into his skin. “As for the difference? I-I dunno how to describe other than Roy is just...different. He can be an absolute prick, sure--you’re not wrong there. But he’s also really...sweet when he wants to. He’s a bit like a hazelnut. It takes a bit to crack him, but he’s not as tough as he’d like ya to believe. He just needs a _little_ work--a little coaxing at times, others a little pressure--and you can slowly see beyond the outer shell. And once you crack it, the whole of him is right there for you to admire. H-He’s funny--like, _incredibly_ funny. In ways I didn’t think a guy like him would _be_ funny, and yet he is! A-And he has a lot of love in that heart, it’s just reserved for certain people. Ya need to prove you’re not going to harm the nut on the inside before he gives you some of that love. But once you have it? Gods, it’s... _nice_. He’s nice! He’s really, really nice! A-And handsome too--but that’s just my preference I guess, I like a guy with muscle and Roy’s really g-got that. But mostly he’s just got a big heart, and that heart is so precious and hurt an-and kind and I--” Argo realizes what he’s been saying and shuts his mouth immediately, purple steadily climbing up his face. Zephyr and Nikolai stare at him (Nikolai having stopped their work almost immediately when Argo began monologuing). He looks at them, petrified. 

“Man, you’ve got it _bad_.” 

“Holy _shit_ you are so fucked.” The twins say in unison, causing Argo to fluster and look away. 

“I-I!! Leave me alone!” Argo shrieks, voice cracking in an incredibly embarrassing way. Zephyr rolls his eyes playfully as Nikolai pulls Argo’s wrist back to them. 

“Okay, guy, we’ll leave ya alone,” Nikolai says kindly. Argo sighs in relief and calms down. “ _Gayass_.” At that, Argo groans and slaps his free hand to his face, hiding his blush at the twins’ subsequent laughter. 

Boy, would they grill his ass if they knew of the significance of the tattoo being brought to life on his arm. 

But that’s his tiny little secret. At least, for now. 

\---

“Five days have never felt so long, huh?” Rainer asks, startling Leon out of his contemplative silence. She tries not to laugh at his overreaction, but a few snickers leave her and make him blush profusely. 

The six of them have stopped for the night, setting up a proper camp and resting their achy muscles. Rhodes is unconscious in her tent, nobody wanting to join her and disrupt her fitful sleep. She’s been working her ass off since this journey began--she deserved her rest. The campfire they built was still burning bright, but it wasn’t the steady roar it was an hour ago. It provides ample warmth to combat against the chilly air of mid-March. Stars twinkle above them, the moon a small slit in the sky tonight. Zana is asleep on the ground beside Rainer, while Buckminster and Rolandus are passed out in the other tent. 

Which leaves Leon and Rainer to guard the fire. 

“Y-Yeah, it’s been a weird couple of days,” Leon muses with a small chuckle. He turns back to the fire and pokes it with a stick he found when gathering tinder, watching the embers jump into the air. “How long do you think we’ll be out here for?” He looks at Rainer out of the corner of his eye, watching for her reaction. 

“Well, Rhodes said there’s a whoooole lot of scent trail left ahead of us.” Rainer replies, extending her arms all the way out to demonstrate the length. Leon chuckles again and Rainer smiles. “To be honest? I feel like we’re making really good progress! I think we’ll get to wherever the boys are a lot faster than it took them, since they probably stopped worrying about anyone wondering where they were.” She shifts a little in her chair, wincing. “I hope it’s soon. My muscles are starting to ache from being in my chair for this long.” Leon nods understandingly. 

“You wanna stand up right now? I can grab your cane,” Leon offers. Rainer nods but pulls the backpack slung around the back of her chair herself, pulling out a small cylinder from it. With a shake, the cylinder springs into a fully sturdy cane, which Rainer uses to stand. Leon keeps his arm extended out of courtesy, not reaching for her but letting her know he’s there in case she needs assistance. She stands for a second, legs trembling, and breathes. Leon puts his arm down, confident that she’d ask if she needed help, and the two stand there for a minute or so until Rainer settles back down in her chair, pocketing her cane after making it a small cylinder again. 

“Fuck, that’s better,” Rainer sighs, gently moving her hips side to side to ease a little bit of the ache. “I have to remember to do that a bit more in the days ahead. Y’know, it’s nice when you have an actual bed ‘cause then you don’t spend all day in the chair, but out here I don’t have that luxury!” 

“You want me to kick Buckminster and Rolandus out of the tent so you can put out your bed?” Leon offers. Rainer smiles mischievously. 

“Oh, I can do that myself, but thanks for offering! That’s what I got the fellas for,” She says, gesturing to the many compartments where her skeletal friends hide away. Leon shakes his head in fond exasperation. Gods, he missed this so much. Being around friends, dealing with Rainer’s antics, watching Buckminster and Rolandus do circles around each other for _no_ reason, watching _Zana and Rainer_ do circles around each other for no reason, it’s so--

“Leon!” Rainer calls, bringing Leon back to the present again. He looks at her with an embarrassed blush, but finds she looks less amused and more... _concerned_. “You’ve been spacing out a whole lot recently. Is everything okay?” Leon internally panics but attempts to keep a schooled expression, brushing her off with a wave of his hand. 

“Yeah, I’m fine! Just...a lot’s been happening, you know? And I’ve always been the quiet type anyways,” He says with a laugh, turning back towards the fire. Rainer frowns. 

“Sure, you’re the quiet type, but you’re usually more attentive to life. Now it feels like you’re barely around; like a shell of yourself walking around,” Rainer replies, noting how the fighter won’t look at her anymore. “In fact, your physical appearance is about the only thing that’s been _normal_ since you came back from...f-from--I don’t even _know_ . Where _did_ you go?” 

“Buckminster didn’t tell you?” Leon deflects which only makes Rainer more concerned. 

“Buckminster doesn’t seem to know where you went, either! He’s confident that he _does_ , but when I’ve asked him he always blanks out like his memory is a record with a skipping track. And I’ve _tried_ to ask the others, but none of them have been able to get a straightforward answer out of you!” Rainer explains, voice raising with her frustration. Leon feels sweat gather on his forehead, and he tries to subtly wipe it away. His guilt presses down on his shoulder like the heavy foot of his father, crushing his lungs under the invisible force. Rainer notes how Leon has gone from the normal, bumbling mess he is to something resembling a caged animal and feels her own guilt clutch her. She decides to back off the assertion and sighs. 

“Listen, I--I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to be talking about now _or_ ever, but I just--” Rainer sighs, turning her chair to face Leon head-on. Leon feels compelled to face her and notices for the first time how absolutely terrifying Rainer can be when she senses something amiss. 

“--I know you know something, Leon. Something you’ve been hiding from us--from Buck, most of all. And I know you’ve been hiding _most_ things from him, but something about this secret feels more daunting. So I’m only gonna ask this once,” Her eyes flicker a sickening green--a tell of her magic building within her. 

“ _What_ . _Happened_.” 

Buckminster opens the flap to his tent, startling the two by the fire. Buckminster smiles at Leon and Rainer, giving them a sleepy wave. 

“Greetings, friends! I’m off to take a leak!” Buckminster announces. Leon jumps up and walks briskly over to the shorter man. 

“I-I’ll go with you!” Leon says, not turning back to face his friend and walking into the awaiting darkness. Buckminster races after him into the night. 

At the fire, Rainer sighs deeply and thinks over what just happened. She’s onto something, but what? A yawn cuts through her thinking and reminds her of the amount of sleep she’s gotten, and she flips open a compartment. Two squirrels spring forth and race into the opened tent, Rolandus waking with a high-pitched scream. Rainer laughs to herself. 

She can worry about it in the morning. 

\---

Saturday came and went in a lazy haze. Argo’s tattoo was still healing--as he learned colored tattoos take a bit longer to do--so he wasn’t inclined to do much exercise or real work. Fitzroy was still recovering from his concussion, moving around a little more each day. Along with that, the half-elf seems perpetually exhausted, like whatever sleep he’s getting is too fitful to be fulfilling. 

Judging by the whines and muffled sobs he’s been hearing through the wall, he has a feeling something is wrong. 

But he tries not to pry and allows him the couch to nap on during the day, which is why he’s laying in bed at 7 PM. The Firbolg is out with Jenny and Lyra--apparently he’s getting involved in some city council event? He was pretty vague when he mentioned it, and Argo’s not going to require the guy to tell him everything that’s going on. 

It _does_ mean he’s bored out of his mind, though. 

He could probably go bother Zephyr and Nikolai, but the embarrassing outburst he had on Thursday still makes him feel a little sick so he decides against it. He could go for a walk, but he’s not comfortable leaving Fitzroy alone, in case he falls or something. His eyelids start to droop as he stares up at the ceiling fan spinning, round and round and round and round and round and...round...and round…….and………..roun……

A nap wouldn’t do him any harm, right? 

**_Wrong!_ **

The voice startles Argo awake, sitting up and looking around frantically. It sounded both distant and right in his ear, in a cadence Argo is unfamiliar with. And, upon further inspection, he realizes this _room_ is unfamiliar. 

Well, it’s actually completely black, but that’s still different from his bedroom. 

“Wh-Where am I?” Argo calls out, hearing his voice bounce off of distant walls. “Who--Who said that to me??” His voice continues to echo as Argo feels a chill creep up his spine. His eyes dart around him, petrified, and panic claws at his lungs. 

**_Oh, calm down, I’m not the_ ** **Boogeyman** **_or anything. Though, maybe you would like that? I do not know what you’re into._ ** The voice speaks again, and this time it sounds close. Argo follows the direction of the voice and looks above him. **_Oh, wait! I do~_ **

Argo screams and scrambles to his feet, trying to escape as the large figure comes down and stands before him. Their form looks almost water-like, but with a surprising gelatinous quality. The bottom half of their body looks to be a cluster of tentacles, all squirming and slapping against the floor, but their upper half is mostly humanoid. Minus the water-like arms and the detached hands with long, spindly fingers. That’s definitely _not_ humanoid. Their face is shaped like a teardrop, with two blinding white eyes like pearls staring at him. Their smile is wide and sharp-toothed, and their hair is another cluster of tentacles. 

**_So good to finally meet you, Argonaut Keene!_ ** The figure greets, giving Argo a playful finger wave. Argo stares at the abomination in horror, his legs frozen in fear, and somehow manages to shakily wave back. This delights the figure, who claps their hands together with a squelching noise. **_Oh, he’s polite! So much better than the other one~_ **

“I-I--” Argo manages. The figure leans in, goading him forward with a look. 

**_I-I. What is it? Is this form too frightening for you?_ ** They ask, twirling around like they were showing off a dress. **_I particularly like the tentacles! They’re a nice change!_ **

“Wh--Who are you?” Argo mutters, eyes wide. The figure turns toward him again and gasps dramatically. 

**_Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself! I go by many names to many people, but the name I prefer most is_ ** **Chaos.** Chaos introduces themself with a deep bow, their body dripping onto the floor. **_And I already know who_ ** **you** **_are, Argonaut Keene~_ **

“H-How--Why--What’s going on?” Argo struggles with what to ask first. So many things pass through his mind at once, yet he finds he can’t make himself move to get away from this--this _Chaos_. Chaos smiles a sickening grin and moves towards him with a series of disgusting slapping and slopping noises. 

**_Well, I did not think I’d be forced to come to this, but unfortunately your little friend has made it quite difficult for me to do my job. Sooooo, I’ve decided to pay_ ** **you** **_a little visit to maybe help...push him on the right track!_ ** Chaos explains cheerily, only further confusing the genasi. They seem to pick up on this and sigh deeply. **_Everyone is so bad at communicating, I swear…_ **

“I...I’m sorry?” Argo responds, causing Chaos to laugh. 

**_Oh, it’s not you, don’t worry, dear. Anyway, your friend_ ** **Fitzroy** **_? His magic? Yes, that’s me, hi! How are you? I’m the source of your friend’s untapped power!_ ** Chaos says. This comes as a shock to Argo, who doesn’t bother trying to hide it on his face. Chaos titters at his expression. **_Don’t look surprised! What, do you think those powers are_ ** **natural** **_? Of course not!_ **

“But why?” Argo blurts out. “He _hates_ his magic, why give it to someone who would despise it so much?” Chaos shakes their head disappointingly, looking downright depressed at what Argo suggested. He almost feels bad, but he’s too creeped out to voice that. 

**_He hates me, I know. It’s so sad, really. You give a guy access to an unlimited well of god-like abilities, and_ ** **he** **_tells you he’d rather be_ ** **boring** **_and_ ** **powerless** **_! How is that the better of two routes, come on!_ ** Chaos sighs, shaking themselves of the thought and returning to their disturbing cheerfulness. **_Never mind all that! What is important is not how he feels about his powers_ ** **now** **_, but how he_ ** **will** **_feel about his powers with_ ** **your** **_help~!_ ** His fear subsides enough that he can cock his head quizzically at Chaos. 

“How am I going to help?” 

**_Well, I’m glad you asked!!_ **With that, they suddenly disappear, and Argo is briefly relieved until he feels two hands on his shoulders. He yelps at the strange sensation they give him--almost like when your foot falls asleep, only colder. The hands move his body to face a different part of the dark void, where Fitzroy stands. 

“F-Fitz?” Argo gasps, Chaos laughing behind him. 

**_Not real Fitz! Dream Fitz!_ ** Chaos corrects. **_This is just for demonstration, please keep all questions until the end of the program, please and thank you._ ** **So** **_! Fitzroy, as we know him, has been repeatedly resistant to welcoming my ideas of absolute power and control with his magic._ **A hand waves in front of the genasi, and the Fitzroy comes to life; hemming and hawing and looking like a caricature of Fitzroy’s mannerisms. It would be funny if Argo wasn’t so disturbed by how puppet-like it looked, down to the soulless eyes peering through him. 

**_We want_ ** **this** **_Fitzroy, to become_ ** **that** **_Fitzroy._ ** And suddenly, beside the first Fitzroy is another Fitzroy, though this one looks a lot different. For one, he looks older, taller, and a lot more muscular. Secondly, his hair is all frizzed out and sparking with electrostatic. Third, he’s wearing...royal garments and a crown? **_That Fitzroy is the end result of current Fitzroy using his powers to the extent I want him to use them!_ ** **That** **_Fitzroy becomes king of Nua--The Thunder King and Lightning Lord, savior of the universe from an all-out demon war!!_ **

“D-Did you say demon wa--” 

**Please** **_hold all questions until the end of the presentation, sir._ ** Chaos instructs in a completely different voice. **_Some people, amirite?_ ** They say in their normal voice. **_I_ ** **know** **_._ **They say in the other voice. Argo feels like he’s being made fun of. 

**_So far, Fitzroy has been hesitant in accepting my offer of absolute power because he’s worried about things like “killing innocent people” and “hurting those he loves”. But I think with just a liiiittle push from one of his closest friends, he’ll be on the right track from turning_ ** **this** **_Argo_ ** **\--** Suddenly, an exact replica of himself stands in front of the rogue, looking back with those blank black eyes. **\--** **_Into_ ** **that** **_Argo!_ **And then, similar to the Fitzroy, a new Argo appears beside his replica. Only, similar to the other Fitzroy, this one is significantly different. 

He also looks older, but his age has refined him in a way Fitzroy’s did not. He’s grown a long, scruffy beard that’s spottled with grey. His hair is long and also greying, and there’s an impressive scar running down his left eye. He wears a long Naval coat that sports a number of badges and awards, and he wears a black captain’s hat. He looks like the buccaneer his mother would have wanted him to be--he looks badass!! 

He looks...kind of like the--

 **_Don’t worry about_ ** **him** **_, dear, I think you’ll like what becomes of your friend the Commodore in this future._ ** As Chaos says this, the figures in front of him coalesce and change, turning into two different people. One becomes a slightly older--but not as old as the other--Argo, and the other turns into an older man with black hair and a captain’s outfit similar to the one Argo’s future self wore. He’s snarling at the Argo, blade pointed and ready to strike, while the Argo looks...strangely calm. Determined. Like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. 

**_Well, haven’t you been waiting?_ ** Chaos answers, leaning close to Argo’s ear. **_Haven’t you been searching all this time for him? The bastard that had your mother killed? Isn’t this all you’ve ever wanted to do? To stand in front of him and poof!_ **They snap their fingers and the scene comes to life, the Argo dodging out of the Commodore’s swing before planting his rapier directly into the man’s chest. The rapier sticks out of the Commodore’s back, dripping blood onto the ground. The Argo then smiles, twists the blade, and rips it out of his chest to plunge it back in again. He does this a few times--every stab sending sparks through the genasi’s body to see the scene that’s been playing out in his head come to life--until he finally steps back and lets the Commodore's body fall to the ground, lifeless. The Argo then picks up the Commdore’s blade and lifts the man’s corpse up by his hair. In one swift motion, Argo watches himself cut the Commodore’s head off, holding it like a prize. 

**_You get to do this, Argo._ ** **You** **_get to hold his lifeless head in your hand and know you’ve sought revenge. And the best part? Nobody will bat an eye, thanks to Fitzoy._ ** The figures morph and change again, this time spitting out a blood-soaked Argo and a Fitzroy. They lock eyes and the Argo smiles, then they race toward each other and embrace. **_He stays true to his word, Argo. He helps you track down the Commodore and get your revenge. And because of his immense power, the government cannot prosecute you for the deed! They quiver under Fitzroy’s rule and pardon you, and when Fitzroy comes into power himself? Well, he gives you everything you’ve ever wanted~_ **

The old Argo appears again, this time standing in front of a large ship, smiling up at it with teary-eyed fondness. Argo feels himself get teary at the sight of the Mariah in its full glory. 

**_You become Admiral “Kraken” Keene, head of Fitzroy’s naval division and ultimate captain of the seas. You ride to all corners of the globe on the Mariah, exploring all the places your mother told you about in stories. And you come home to a loving, doting husband each and every time._ **They wave a hand in front of Argo’s face, revealing to him a scene of future Argo and Fitzroy locked in a passionate kiss that makes the genasi’s insides stir. Fitzroy holds onto Argo’s face like it’s his lifeline, and when they part he smiles brightly. 

“Th-That’s not right…” Argo mumbles, dumbfounded. Chaos laughs wickedly. 

**_It_ ** **is** **_! You see, thanks to the bond you forged helping him realize his true potential, Fitzroy realizes the true potential in_ ** **you** **_! He falls hopelessly in love with you, and you two marry in the spring like his mother always wished!_ ** Finally, they wave their hand one last time and the figures disappear, Chaos now appearing in front of him. **_Aaand that’s the presentation! Any thoughts? Questions? Comments? I’m open to all and any~_ **

Argo stands--shell-shocked and confused and maybe a _little_ flustered--and tries to think over everything Chaos just showed him. On one hand, it really does seem like the perfect future. Argo gets everything he’s ever wanted--revenge, recognition, love, appreciation, the Mariah, _everything_. But...he thinks about what Chaos told him in the beginning. 

How this _isn’t_ what Fitzroy wants. They mentioned a war and, while Argo doesn’t know where or when or _why_ that happens, he knows he doesn’t want that. Most of all, he wants what Fitzroy wants. Screw the future he _could_ have if it means making Fitzroy make sacrifices he isn’t willing to make! 

**_You’re too silent, I don’t like silence._ ** Chaos says quickly, cutting off Argo’s thoughts. **_So~? Is this a yes or a no? I have a feeling I know what you are going to say and I’m not too--_ **

“--I can’t do it, I’m sorry.” 

**_\--Yep, there it is. There’s what I was thinking!_ ** They flap their arms up into the air, smile gone from their face. **_Another one who just_ ** **refuses** **_to think rationally! Oh, great! That is just wonderful, no_ ** **really** **_it is fine~_ **

“Is it?” 

**_No._ ** Suddenly, they’re in Argo’s face again, looking absolutely terrifying when they’re mad. **_It is not. Fine. Argonaut. Because_ ** **now** **_I have_ ** **another** **_pesky little twerp who decides their judgement is_ ** **better** **_than a_ ** **deity’s** **_!!! So_ ** **now,** they grab Argo by the shoulders again. **_I have to_ ** **show you** **_what happens when you deny my power!_ **They stand to their full height, lifting Argo into the air like it was nothing. He squirms in fear, trying to get out of Chaos’s grip. But they hold him and shake their head. 

**_Well, guess reality’s going to be a_ ** **cold** **_shock to you when I get what I want anyway._ **

And then, they drop Argo into a raging ocean, plunging him below the inky surface. Argo struggles and fights to breach the surface, but the water is cold. Not only that, it is similarly numbing--like Chaos’s skin. It makes it harder to move his body, and more painful the deeper he gets. He knows that, as a genasi, he _can’t_ drown but his body seems to react like he can. His lungs burn with that numbing chill and he can feel himself growing weak. With the remaining energy he has, he screams. Numbing water fills his lungs, killing him from the inside. 

And then…

He wakes up in the shower, cold water pelting his clothed back. 

\---

Fitzroy feels better by Sunday. 

It usually wouldn’t take him this long to heal from an injury like he received a week prior, but his sleep (or lack thereof) has made it difficult for his body to fully recover. Most nights he tossed and turned with images of his ripped open chest, beating heart, and the terrible smile of Chaos as they killed him. 

He managed to sleep well Saturday night, which seemed to be the final boost he needed to not wake up to a terrible migraine in the morning. He got out of bed and put on some comfy clothes, though, since he still wasn’t too keen on leaving the house yet. 

He spent most of the day alone in the living room, as it would appear that the Firbolg had business to do elsewhere and Argo was still asleep. Which was _weird_ because Argo never slept in late. But Fitzroy wasn’t about to pry; it would be weird to check in on a roommate, right? He certainly wouldn’t expect Argo to do the same for him… 

Sometime in the afternoon, Argo finally steps out of his room, his eyes deeply sunken in. Fitzroy looks up from his Sudoku puzzle and nearly gasps at how absolutely _exhausted_ the genasi looks. Argo walks to the kitchen like a zombie, not even registering the half-elf’s presence in the living room as he made himself coffee. Fitzroy considers leaving him be and letting him wake up on his own, but the sight of him looking so drained makes Fitzroy feel...sad. 

“H--Good morning, sleepy head!” Fitzroy greets, a little awkward. Argo’s head picks up at his voice and he nods, turning back to the coffee pot. 

“...Is it mornin’?” Is his gruff reply. Something about the low register of his voice makes Fitzroy stare for a moment, cheeks lightly flushed, but he shakes himself of the moment and laughs to himself. 

“No, it’s actually uh…” He checks the clock on the wall. “3:30? Geez, you must have slept like _shit_.” Argo stands by the coffee pot, watching it drip, and nods. There’s a few minutes of silence--Argo watching the coffee, Fitzroy watching Argo watch the coffee--before Argo pads over with a full mug of black coffee. He sits down on the couch and drinks it all in one go. 

“Yeah. I did.” Argo finally replies, coming back to life a little bit. Fitzroy looks at him and snorts. Argo stares into his coffee cup blankly. “I’m gonna need more coffee.” 

“Do you--” Fitzroy starts, but when Argo turns to look at him he stops. He isn’t sure if he’s overstepping boundaries, but he can’t help but feel a little concerned. “D-Do you...want to talk about it--” 

The door slams open, scaring the two. The Firbolg stands in the doorway, a tote bag in one of his massive hands and a wide grin on his face. 

“Good. You are awake.” The Firbolg says to them, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He walks in front of the couch and plops down on the floor with a thud, setting his tote bag in front of all three of them. Inside, Fitzroy can see a litany of board games, puzzles, and other such activities. “As a...member of the Thunderman Corporation, I...feel as if we are lacking in...social bonds. So I get ac-tiv-i-ties that promote gen-er-al bond! And we do them today!” 

“O-Oh, Firby, usually I’d love to, but I’m--” Argo starts, and is promptly silenced by the Firbolgs piercing stare. 

“And we. Do them. Today.” He says again, this time leaving no room for excuses. The two look at each other, shrug, and seat themselves on the floor like the Firbolg. 

“Okay, Master Firbolg, you want game night, we can do game night!” Fitzroy concedes, clapping his hands together resolutely. “Soooo, which one do we want to start with…?” Fitzroy peeks into the tote bag to size up their gaming arsenal. “Oooo, I see Apples to Apples! Anyone want to have some silly word fun? Or maybe-- _oh_ is that Ladders and Lions! I haven’t played that game in years! Why don’t we--” 

“-- _No_!” The Firbolg shouts, snatching the tote bag away. Fitzroy sits up, a little startled, and holds his hands up like he’s being arrested. “I have picked game already. We play this.” He pulls the game out from his pocket, which looks to be an empty wine bottle and a deck of clearly-handmade cards. He lays them out in front of the three of them, and Fitzroy blushes at the sight of the bottle. 

“Um, Firbolg, this is...this is _great_ , but I actually think I will _not_ be participating in Spin-the-Bottle, thank you very mu--” 

“--Is not Spin-the-Bottle. Is new game. Is Firbolg’s game.” The Firbolg cuts Fitzroy off again, at which point the barbarian thinks maybe he should just hear his friend out and ask questions later. “Rules are simple: you spin bottle, bottle lands on person, spinner asks person question, person answers or gets a strike. Three strikes means out. Last person left wins.” The game seems like a hybrid between Spin-the-Bottle and Truth or Dare, minus the dare. Fitzroy has a feeling there’s an ulterior motive to this, but he can’t currently argue with the Firbolg’s unshakeable resolve, so he shrugs and lets it be. Argo seems almost completely spaced out, which means he can’t question it. The Firbolg smiles. 

“Alright. First spin.” And the game begins. 

The first spin lands on Fitzroy. The Firbolg reads the question: 

“Fitzroy, say nice thing about the spin-ner.” Fitzroy considers the question, as it feels like more of a command. But the Firbolg is waiting and he doesn’t want to piss him off again, so he coughs into his fist and thinks on the fly. 

“Well, you’re the spinner, so I have to say that I really appreciate your...aptitude for language, Master Firbolg.” Fitzroy says, “It’s short and to-the-point, which can be helpful when navigating the seas of nuance!” The Firbolg smiles and nods his head, pleased. He puts the card down. “O-Okay, so I spin now, right?” The Firbolg nods again. “Okay, here goooooes,” 

The second spin lands on Argo. Fitzroy picks up a card and reads the question: 

“Oka--Um, I don’t think this is much of a question, but uh: ‘Say one nice thing about yourself’.” Argo comes to life when addressed, and it takes him a second to realize what’s going on. 

“Wait, so this is the game? Just, like...compliments?” Argo asks, looking at the Firbolg. The Firbolg looks back with a stern glare, gesturing with his head towards Fitzroy. Argo sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. One nice thing about myself, that’s easy! I have a super _sexy_ mustache that everyone _looves_ ~” He wiggles his shoulders as he speaks, rubbing his mustache in an almost erotic way. Fitzroy gags. “Aw, c’mon, don’t hate the player! Hate the beautiful, luscious game~” 

“With every fiber of my being I hate you, Argo. I really do,” Fitzroy replies, setting the card down. “Your turn to spin, Mr. Sexy-Stache.” Argo preens himself at the title, causing Fitzroy to snort. 

The third spin lands on Fitzroy. 

“Huh, that’s funny,” Argo says, picking up a card. “Okay: ‘Say one problem you have with the spinner.’ Wh-Why is that a question? It’s not even a _question_ \--” 

“--Fitzroy, answer.” The Firbolg says, turning to Fitzroy. The half-elf looks between his two roommates, feeling equally trapped. Argo at least looks a little sympathetic, if not a little...sad? Why is he sad? Meanwhile, the Firbolg is burning a hole in the side of his head. 

“Um. A-A problem I have with Argo?” The Firbolg nods. Fitzroy feels particularly put on-the-spot. “Well...I...Uh--I, don’t. O-One problem I have with Argo is...sometimes he leaves the toilet seat up and I think that’s gross.” Argo seems just as relieved as Fitzroy to be done with that, but their third member is not pleased. 

“Try again. Not serious enough.” The Firbolg instructs, taking the bottle and holding it. Fitzroy looks at him incredulously. 

“Wh-What do you mean, ‘not serious enough’? I don’--If you’re trying to deal with matters of Human Relations, I do _not_ think forcing us to vent our beef via _board games_ is the way to do it.” Fitzroy tries to stand up and leave, but the Firbolg casts Hold Person and forces him to stay in place. “H-Hey! What the fuck!? Let me go!” 

“Try. Again.” Is the Firbolg’s only response. Fitzroy struggles against the magic, still too weak internally to fight back. 

“P-Pass then! I pass and take a strike! Gods, let me go, Firbolg!” 

“No. You try again.” 

“F-Firby, I don’t think this is the best way to--” Argo reaches out the Firbolg to try and calm him, but he turns and casts Hold Person on him too. 

“NO. YOU SETTLE DIF-FER-EN-CES NOW OR YOU DO NOT LEAVE.” The Firbolg bellows, standing up and moving the board games away. The two stop their struggling at the Firbolg’s outburst, watching his cheerful facade crumble. “I...am sick of feeling like clan is dead. Something is wrong. I want...to fix it. Let me fix it…..Please….” They watch the Firbolg sit back down, head hung low. His hair covers his face, but Fitzroy can hear him sniffle once. Suddenly, all the anger he held within him drains away, and all he’s left with is...guilt. 

“Oh, Firbolg, I...I’m sorry.” Fitzroy says. “I-I did not realize--I had assumed the, uh...the _problems_ between Argo and I were a personal thing. I...I was foolish to assume you didn’t sense the tension.” 

“Me too, bud, I...I’m sorry,” Argo apologizes as well, sounding just as guilty for making their friend this upset. “I should’ve known from your questions on Monday that this was bothering you, but I had. I dunno! I thought maybe you would see it was sort of a lost cause? I mean--Fitzroy, you don’t _have_ to forgive me for what I did. I...I deserve your scorn, I realized that almost immediately after we had that argument.” 

Fitzroy is surprised by this. He hadn’t realized they never patched that issue since they got here. 

Okay, well maybe he knew and just wasn’t ready to admit he overreacted, but he didn’t think Argo was that bothered by it! 

“Argo, I...I didn’t think that it was affecting you.” Fitzroy says to Argo, though he’s stuck facing the Firbolg. “I mean, I respect your willingness to give me space and your understanding that I do _not_ have to forgive you for that violation of trust. But...I--Maybe I overreacted a bit, too… After all, I don’t think you knowing about my humdrum past was the causation for all _this_ . It was--I was being reactionary by blaming our current situation on you, and I’m sorry for that.” Argo wishes he could see the look on Fitzroy’s face right now because he’s almost certain it would be the mocking imitation Chaos showed him last night. There’s no way this is _real_. Fitzroy is...apologizing? 

“Well, I--Thank ya for apologizin’. Honestly, I felt your reaction was pretty apt, since it was a massive breach of your privacy. I understand that now and understood it then! Which is why I wanted t’give ya space! I-I figured you’d be more happy around town without me weighing you down…” 

“H--What? Argo, why on _earth_ would you think that?” Fitzroy asks, flabbergasted. “Your presence is--you _matter_ to me, man! Your my...Well, y-you’re my--at least, _I_ would consider you a-and Master Firbolg my f--my f--fuck! No, no! That’s not the word. I just...you two are my friends.” Fitzroy shuts his eyes against the waves of embarrassment and existential dread that hit him in that moment. “I would be lost without you…” 

Hold Person drops on them both in time for the Firbolg to crush them in a hug, smiling the biggest, goofiest smile in existence. Fitzroy and Argo struggle for only a second before relenting and patting him on the back. After a few more seconds, he lets them go, smiling down at them with a few tears in his eyes. 

“There it is.” The Firbolg says, warmth radiating from his voice. “There is clan.” Fitzroy and Argo look at each other for a moment, settling their issues with one long, knowing look. 

Jenny was right. There’s nothing Fitzroy can do about what happened in the past. All he can do is focus on the future and what his actions will do to create it. Wedging a wall between him and Argo was only going to further ruin relations between the three of them. And though Fitzroy still doesn’t feel completely comfortable with Argo knowing his past, he’s almost certain it no longer matters. They’re dead to the eyes of the world. Who cares about Fitzroy’s life on a farm with a loving but excommunicated mother and a deadbeat, absent father? All that matters is the life he lives _now_ , as Roy Fitzgerald. 

Argo looks at Fitzroy and feels his heart swell at the smile he gives him. As much as he feels silly for letting it go on this long, he’s glad to at least have his friend back for good. Maybe Lyra was right about giving him space, but he’s grateful for the Firbolgs interference to finally seal the deal. He was just too scared of fucking up what was already ruined, and runining Fitzroy’s happy life away from what he perceives as his awful past. Argo knows what it feels like to run from that, and he wanted to give Fitzroy room to get away. But, at the end of the day, he knew it would only lead to ruin. Hopefully, now they can all progress forward as a unit, without thoughts of their past looming over them like pillars of regret. 

“Yes, we’re back.” Fitzroy says, grinning. Argo nods his affirmation. “Now! As a celebration of our corporation being re-kindled, I say we bring that bag of games back so we can crack open that Apples to Apples!!” 

\---

The evening is filled with laughter, funny phrases, snacks, and general merriment. Fitzroy finds himself the most relaxed he’s felt in days, sitting with his friends and playing games. He looks over at Argo--who’s shaking in silent laughter with the card he’s just picked up--and his chest warms at the sight of him so happy. It’s good to see whatever was bothering him during his sleeping hours has left his mind now. 

Eventually, they decide to head over to Bustin’s to have a few drinks, and Fitzroy feels it happen.

It all clicks into place. 

The life he’s been trying to make for himself, the life he’s been running tirelessly from, his friends, his _family_ , his whole world...all clicks at once. 

All at once, Roy Fitzgerald realizes he’s home. 

He looks around his desert town, the cramped buildings made of old woods and brass, and feels a sense of joy tingle in his fingers. He thinks of the friends he’ll see inside the bar--Jenny, with her wisecracks and bone-crushing hugs. Wyatt, and his infinite kindness and dorky comments. Lyra, with her perplexing gaze and deadpan jokes. He thinks of the friends his friends have--Zephyr and Nikolai, from the tattoo parlor. Sheriff Jasper is kind and respectable, so he’s fine. He thinks of the life he’ll return to in the morning; waking up early, sanding wood, making art, helping people, being loved and appreciated for who he _is_ \--not who they _wish_ he was. 

He thinks of all of it and knows there’s no way he can leave this. This is home. 

He’s home. 

And then, they enter the bar. 

“Oh, hey Roy! Aaron! Bud! Got some news for ya!” Jenny calls from the bar, gesturing to the two people sitting in front of her. “Guess y’all are no longer the newbies around town! Say hello to Horace and Henry Wilson!” The gentlemen turn, and Roy sees their faces. 

They look younger than last he’s seen them. One has his hair longer than he last remembers, and it’s tied back in a braid. He’s clean-shaven, dressed in simple clothing--not the robes of old. The other’s beard is shorter and less elderly-looking, a solid brown instead of being riddled with grey streaks. He wears a cloak over his shirt, but even that isn’t that out-of-place. But their faces are nearly the same. Piercing blue and muted green staring at the trio. 

Hieronymous and Higglemas Wiggenstaff are here. 

Fitzroy’s life comes crashing down. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argo realizes something. Fitzroy realizes something too. 
> 
> If only they were on the same page as to what that was. 
> 
> Two weeks pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY HOWDY IS THIS A BIG ONE. I AM SO SORRY FOR BOTH THE DELAY AND THE LENGHT, BUT THINGS JUST SORTA HAPPENED ALRIGHT. 
> 
> anyways, happy early merry christmas!!!! yes that was a sentence i just wrote :-) i wrote this mostly as a christmas present for my friends (merry christmas cock corp and friend zone!!!!! i love you all mwah mwah mwah), but also it very quickly became my friend matthew's birthday present as i realized there was no way in Hell i was getting his actual birthday present done in time
> 
> so this one's for matthew!!! happy early birthday you fucking clown. you're my best friend, i love you so much you mean the World to me, and i hope you like this chapter. 
> 
> no fanart shouts right now bc it is nearly 2 AM and i'd like to sleep eventually, but just go check out matthew's blog @accesscodex on tumblr.com!!! [it's right here!! tell him how swag his art is!! reblog his art!! do it do it do it](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/)
> 
> this chapter is probably my favorite thing i've ever written. SO MANY things went so right in this chapter, though i did write a lot of it in a writing manic state today. because of said manic state, most of this is unedited so please excuse any errors. i do intend on editing them out tomorrow when i have time. also i had another scene intended before that ending, but i realized this chapter was probably hitting the 20k mark so i decided to push it to chapter 8 so. stay tuned!!! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy and you have a happy holidays! if ur family sucks, or if ur stuck alone bc of covid, then know that im with you and treat yourself to some gay cowboys on me :-) 
> 
> enjoy!

“Oh--” Argo starts, but Fitzroy can hear he’s just as startled by this turn of events as he is. In his peripherals, he sees the genasi subtly turn towards the other two in a desperate plea for assistance, but Fitzroy can’t move from his spot. 

The world is spinning, spinning, spinning and Fitzroy finds himself at the epicenter of it all. All the noise, all the movement, all the _everything_. His stomach churns, his blood pumps through his veins, his brain fires synapses through his nerves--it all accumulating in a flurry of tireless progression to its eventual end. 

There are very few times where Fitzroy ruminates over the perplexity of living, but standing in front of the two people who could ruin everything--the life and identity he’s so carefully crafted here--has him feeling a bit philosophical. 

Well, less “philosophical” and more “on the verge of a mental breakdown”. 

“Roy?” He distantly hears Jenny’s voice and his body responds. He turns on his heel--nearly collapsing in the process--and makes a beeline for the door. He hears footsteps follow him, but he’s out in the open air before they can reach him. Immediately, he turns and runs for the railing. He leans over and vomits onto the floor below in a desperate attempt to release the building pressure within him. He squeezes his eyes shut as another wave of nausea hits him and forces his head into a spinning vortex. He vomits again and sags against the railing, completely spent. 

It’s all over, isn’t it? 

The big charade they’ve been performing is suddenly going to be found out, Fitzroy is certain of it. If the Wiggenstaff’s haven’t said anything _yet_ , then it will merely be a waiting game of when someone finally recognizes the brothers for who they are. And when _that_ happens, he’s certain their end will not be far behind. Then they will have to go back--to former knighthoods, to lonely sailors, to lost firbolgs, to classes that don’t matter, to friends who will feel betrayed, to grieving mothers and absent fathers and those in between who will call him a liar, a scoundrel, an ungrateful sham, a cheat, a _failure_ \--

“Fitz?” A gentle whisper pierces the cacophony of voices and Fitzroy cracks one eye open to see Argo standing over him, concern set in his features as he carefully reaches down towards the barbarian. Fitzroy flinches, afraid of a magical outburst, but when the lightning doesn’t arc off his body he sighs and takes Argo’s hand. Argo hoists the taller man to his feet, supporting him with his other arm as Fitzroy sways dangerously to one side. “Are you okay, buddy?” 

“S-Sorry, I--” He coughs away the hoarseness in his voice and tries again. “I-I don’t know what came over me, I just…” He trails off, turning to Argo with a pained expression. “Y-You see... _them_ in there, right? I’m not just--not just imagining things?” 

“No, no, I see ‘em alright…” Argo trails off, feigning nonchalance as a few patrons pass them to enter the bar. Argo pushes them both closer to the railing, ignoring the stench of bile as he tries to speak more discreetly. “I just don’t understand why they’d be here, y’know? I-I mean, the one’s not a dog anymore, so it’s good t’know we helped but...shouldn’t they be, uh...back _there_?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Listen,” Fitzroy grabs both of Argo’s arms and leans in close, careful to mask this movement as him being shaky on his feet so none are suspicious. “They know who we are as much as we know them. T-They’re going to _ruin_ our good thing, Argo! We--We need to skip town or something, start all over. New names, new looks, new area, new everything, we--we’re not _safe_ here anymore. They--Why are they _here_ ? Out of any desert town, they chose _this_ one? Do you--Do you think they knew all along? Does that mean--oh gods, the demon prince knows too oh fuck we have to leave _now_ \--” Fitzroy is silenced by a stinging pain across the face, and he looks to Argo in horror. “Did you just fucking _slap me_?” 

“Yeah, ‘cause yer actin’ like a fucking _loon_ !” Argo exclaims, prying Fitzroy’s hands off of him to hold them encouragingly. “Listen, nothin’s gonna happen to us, okay? I-I know this is weird and scary and _bad_ \--objectively I agree with ya there that this is a _bad_ situation--but we’re gonna make this right! If we just get them alone and explain our situation, I’m sure they’re not gonna try and ruin that on purpose. We _aren’t_ going to lose this, okay?” He squeezes Fitzroy’s hands and looks at him with a solid determination. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.” 

Fitzroy feels his pulse quicken as he stands on the other end of this bold declaration. It feels...strange. Like this moment was meant for something else, but the Fates decided this was more appropriate. Regardless, it’s hard for him to ignore how Argo’s words _do_ silence the anxieties that threaten to burst out of his skull. Instead, an odd fluttering fills his chest, like a cluster of moths around an oil lamp. He ignores it for the moment and opts to squeeze Argo’s hands back, giving him a small determined smile in turn. 

“And I you.” He replies, the words coming out more sincere than intended. He plays it off with a laugh and adds, “After all, I’d be a pretty shitty company leader if I let you both be run out of town, huh?” Argo laughs and rolls his eyes. 

“Sure, sure, Mister CEO. Just kill the genuine conversation we were havin’ with business talk,” Argo teases, causing Fitzroy to gasp dramatically in offense. 

“Rude! I was simply keeping the business in mind--which _any_ good CEO should be doing at all times!” He quips back, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. Argo laughs again and it is in that moment that Fitzroy realizes that they’re still holding hands. Yet, as much as that would usually make him feel uncomfortable, he finds he’s not ready to let go--

“ _Roy_ ? Y’okay, buddy?” Jenny bursts through the door, missing the moment entirely as Fitzroy rips his hands from Argo’s grasp, turns around, and vomits over the railing one more time. “ _Ohhhh_ , that ain’t a pretty sight…” Argo stands awkwardly for half a second--both amazed and a little disgusted with how the barbarian was able to switch gears so quickly--before plunging himself into the bit. 

“Yeah, we think it might be the, uh--we had salsa back home? An’ now that I think of it, I don’t remember when we got that stuff, so uh--Roy here--” He gestures back to Fitzroy, who picks himself off the railing and nods along to the story. 

“--Bad salsa. Definitely, definitely, bad salsa--” Fitzroy agrees. 

“--Yeah, bad salsa. A-And Roy is a _major_ salsa nut--” 

“--Oh yeah, can’t get enough of the stuff. Love the, uh...tomatoes.” 

“Yeah! So, uh, he had too much bad salsa and it’s, uh. Well y’know what bad salsa does to yer gut.” Argo finishes. Jenny stares at the two for a moment, her own gears turning, before she shakes her head solemnly. 

“I’ve had a case of the salsa sweats too, my friend. It ain’t fun.” Jenny says, turning around to yell through the door: “Lyra, sweetie! Get me some boxes of ginger tea, will ya?” She turns back to the two with a smile. “That’ll help with the nausea--settle yer stomach and the like. You just get your rest, aight Roy? Don’t come into work tomorrow if yer still feelin’ froggy!” Lyra and the Firbolg come out, the Firbolg holding a small tote. Lyra nods towards the Firbolg and immediately goes back inside, Jenny laughing at her antics. 

“Don’t mind her, she just gets a little queasy around barf,” Jenny explains, the trio nodding in turn. Argo “helps” Fitzroy walk down the two steps to the road proper with the Firbolg following behind. 

“Thanks so much for yer help!” Argo says with a smile. Jenny shakes her head kindly. 

“Aw, of course! Just come on back when yer feelin’ up to snuff, Roy!” She calls out, finally turning around to head inside. The trio all collectively relax when she’s gone and Fitzroy stands a little taller. 

“You...are not sick, yes?” The Firbolg asks rather astutely. 

“We’ll explain when we’re back home,” Fitzroy replies. The three turn and begin to head across the street, but don’t make it far when they hear the door to the bar burst open again and Jenny call out: 

“Hold up, fellas! Y’all don’t mind takin’ our new friends to their place, do ya?” The three turn their heads to see Hieronymous and Higglemas standing on either side of Jenny, both looking as awkward as the Thundermen feel. “Their place is right next to yours!” She doesn’t wait for a reply; simply tossing Argo the keys (which he deftly catches) and heading back inside. The five stare at each other for a long, long, incredibly _awful_ moment. 

Finally, Fitzroy coughs into his fist and says: 

“Well, I believe a chit-chat is in order, hm?” 

\---

A stormcloud of tension looms in the apartment as the five men enter, Argo taking the lead while Higglemas trails behind. The older elf shuts and locks the door behind them and then casts some sort of spell over it. The door shimmers a faint silver that then dissipates, leaving a gentle glow in its wake. Fitzroy watches with a curious expression, and when Higglemas sees this he shrugs and says, “Silencing spell. Can never be too sure who’s listening in, hm?” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Fitzroy replies with a huff, turning away. Inwardly he’s grateful, but he won’t let the old man know that. “Well, make yourself at home! We have...quite a bit to discuss, so it’s best that we all get comfortable and hash it out now.” The others nod, Higglemas walking over to join his brother on the couch while the Firbolg settles himself on the floor. Argo sits on a dining room chair he’s carried over to the carpet. Fitzroy opts to stand, leaning against the wall beside Argo’s door and staring directly at the brothers. The tension amplifies in the awkward silence that follows. 

“Um, where do we wanna…?” Argo breaks the silence, glancing from the brothers to Fitzroy in the hopes that one of them will cut him off. He studies Fitzroy’s rigid posture--the tension in his shoulders and the occasional ripple of muscle as he clenches and unclenches his fists--and understands the amount of restraint he’s practicing. Fitzroy doesn’t trust them, that much is obvious. 

Given their current situation, Argo isn’t inclined to trust them either. 

“I...see the apple has done its job,” The Firbolg states, much to the group’s confusion. He looks at Hieronymous and nods. “You are not dog. This is...great a-chieve-ment.” Hieronmyous seems surprised that he’s being acknowledged, but he nods politely all the same. 

“Oh, y-yes, I’m...back to normal. For the most part,” Hieronymous says with a nervous smile. “I still get a bit...lost sometimes. It’s been a little difficult acclimating to the world, but I’ve been managing.” 

“Yes, good to see you’re back to your elven self,” Fitzroy adds, his tone not at all matching his pleasantries. “Funny how you should mention acclimation! That’s actually a thing we Thundermen are _very_ well-versed in. Given the fact that--oh, I dunno--we had to _flee for our lives and start over with completely new identities_?” 

“Fitzroy--” Argo starts, though he doesn’t get far. 

“Nobody _demanded_ you fake your deaths and run out to the middle of the desert, Sir Fitzroy.” Higglemas replies, tone clipped and authoritative. Fitzroy glares at the older man, fists tightly clenched under his crossed arms. 

“It’s _Fitzro_ \--no, wait, it’s Sir--Roy--fucking. _Okay_ .” He huffs and closes his eyes for a moment to compose himself. “That’s not the fucking _point_ , _Higglemas_ . The _point_ is why in the _hell_ are _you two_ out here?? Hm? B-Because last I checked you were supposed to be _overthrowing a demon prince_ and _running a school_.” Higglemas bristles.

“Who ever said anything about overthrowing the Demon Prince?” He asks, dumbfounded. Fitzroy rolls his eyes. 

“ _Well_ , pardon me for just _assuming_ that after you brought your brother back you’d want to _fix_ the mess that’s been running rampant through your school!” 

“Do you understand how _powerful_ he is, Fitzroy? He could kill any one of us like _that_!” 

“Oh, I’m _well aware_ of what he can do, figuring I spent **_three weeks running from his demons who nearly eviscerated an entire town_ **\--” 

“OKAY!” Argo breaks up the argument before it could go into rage territory. Which, given the static electricity lifting Fitzroy’s hair, was very quickly getting to that point. “Okay. So _obviously_! We got some tension here from both sides. And, as CCO of Thunderman LLC, I think it would be our best course of action if we try to clearly communicate these issues. Now Fitzroy’s,” he gestures to the half-elf, “issue is that he feels threatened by your presence here in town.” Fitzroy shakes his head.

“Not _threatened_ ,” He clarifies. “Just _confused_. W-We should be the only ones playing cowboy out here, okay?” He looks like he’s ready to go off on another rampage, but he restrains himself for Argo’s sake. For now. 

“Okay, so that’s what Fitzroy--and, to be honest? Kind of what the three of us are thinking right now. Right, Firby?” Argo looks over to the Firbolg, who nods in agreement. “Right. So, uh, y’mind explainin’ to us what...happened?” Hieronymous looks at his brother with a strange expression; something between guilty and determined. Higglemas, for his part, avoids eye contact with every single person in the room, which only causes his older brother to sigh and shake his head. 

“Higgs,” Hieronymous says, getting the attention of his brother. “We have to tell them.” Higglemas looks at his brother with angered defiance. 

“Wh--No! What does it matter now?! We’re already _here_.” He retorts, gesturing to the floor pointedly. 

“ _Higglemas_ ,” Hieronymous presses on, now taking on a more authoritative tone. “It isn’t right. They deserve to know.” 

“This is a _really_ cool, not in _any_ way super vague conversation going on, you two! Keep it up!” Fitzroy says in a mock-cheerful tone, earning a pointed look from Argo. Hieronymous stares at Higglemas for a few moments longer, silently pleading for his cooperation, before sighing once more and turning back towards the trio. 

“We have something to confess, and if Higglemas is going to be too much of a baby to say it, then I have no problem doing it myself.” Hieronymous says, in clear opposition to his brother’s stubbornness. “Higglemas, he...well, to be frank, he lied to you. About the apple.” The phrase ripples through the room like a typhoon wave, sending a flurry of emotions through each of the Thundermen. 

“ _I knew it_ ,” Fitzroy mutters to himself; the knowledge sends electricity through his veins, just waiting for the moment to break the surface of his skin. He holds himself back for the sake of not blowing a hole through the apartment, but that control might not be too easy if this goes south. 

The Firbolg looks betrayed, having been the one to believe and trust Higglemas the most. He gave up the sanctity of his own mind because of Higglemas’s words; the thought that any of them could have been a lie is unthinkably painful to the Firbolg’s sense of truth. He sees the headmaster glance at him with a sorry expression; but he forces himself to look away, lest he blow a fuse like his half-elf friend. Argo is the only one who does not outwardly display his feelings about this knowledge-- mostly because he’s determined to keep himself calm to better mediate the conversation. He’s not too incredibly shocked, but that isn’t a good thing. 

“The apple _did_ have magic, that much was true.” Hieronymous continues, “And he _did_ need it. But its purpose...was not to fix me. It was to save us both from the Demon Prince.” Higglemas gets up from the couch and walks over to the front door. He makes no move to leave--simply to distance himself from the truth. “You see, the tree at the centaur’s camp was made with the Demon Prince’s magic. He made it to give those two camps something to fight over--a source of chaos, one might say.” Fitzroy grabs onto his own arm and squeezes. “But, since the tree was made with his magic, it meant that any sort of masking or protection spell made with its components would be able to evade the wards placed around the school. So that’s what he did; he got the apple to make a protection spell for our escape.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to continue, but then he stops himself in time for the group to ruminate. 

Silence settles over the room like fog on a battlefield; a thin haze just barely masking the carnage right in front of them. Fitzroy pushes himself off the wall and walks slowly to the kitchen, each step a cacophony to the suffocating silence. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Fitzroy starts slow and calm, turning back around to Hieronymous. “Higglemas had the components he needed to fix you all along? Is that what I’m getting from this explanation?” 

“N-Not the _whole_ time, but for some time, yes, he’s had the components.” Hieronymous replies. Fitzroy nods in understanding, turning back around to slowly walk around the island. 

“Alright, so he had the components to fix you, and he needed the apple to make a warding spell against this Demon Prince guy, correct?” Hieronymous nods cautiously. “Cool, cool, cool. Okay! So, to put the whole story together, Higglemas let three students nearly be killed by a demon prince so he could be a coward and run off with his brother. Did I get that right or am I missing something?” Higglemas sharply turns, looking at the half-elf in shock. 

“Now wait a minute, I never--” And then he is silenced. Quite literally because Fitzroy’s just flung a silencing spell at him, eyes a blazing fury as he points at the man with pure malice. 

“ **You** do not have the right to speak,” He spits out, sending the other three into motion. Hieronymous stands, prepared to defend his brother, while Argo runs to Fitzroy’s side to try and get a hold of the situation. The Firbolg stands simply to stand, in case anyone wants to challenge his authority. 

“Fitzroy, drop the spell,” Argo says, voice pleading. “C’mon, I know yer mad, but--” 

“-- _Mad_ ?? Mad does not even _begin_ to describe what I’m feeling right now,” Fitzroy shoots back, gesturing to Higglemas. “He _lied to us_ , Argo! He risked our lives so he could fuck off with his brother somewhere without a _word_ to the rest of the world!! I-I don’t see how you’re not _more_ mad than you are right now!” 

“I am mad! Trust me, I’m downright infuriated! B-But we don’t need to result to violence--” 

“-- _Violence_ ? Oh, I can _do_ violence. You want me to try some violence?” He turns back around to Higglemas, only to be met with the pointed end of a sword. Hieronymous stands in front of him, tall and powerful and heroic, face hardened with a protective glare. 

“You take one step towards my brother and I’ll slice your head clean off,” He says, voice low and dangerous. Fitzroy stares up at Hieronymous in shock, though that shock is quickly replaced with rage. 

“I respect you, Mr. Hieronymous, but **do not** mistake my respect for trust. I have _no_ issue with blasting a two-elf-sized hole through the side of this building.” Fitzroy challenges, squaring his shoulders like he’s readying for a fight. Argo looks between the two, exasperated.

“ENOUGH.” Finally, the Firbolg intervenes, voice booming through the apartment with incredible force. “BACK DOWN, BOTH OF YOU.” The room freezes in anticipation as the two men remain locked in a staring contest. Slowly, Hieronymous lowers his sword and sheaths it, as Fitzroy takes a few calming breaths to contain his rage. The spell is dropped from Higglemas, who says not a word but shoots a thankful glance over to the forest-dweller. “Now sit. We will discuss like men. Not fight like animals.” 

Reluctantly, everyone makes their way back to their previous seats, though Fitzroy still opts to stand. Instead of standing so far away, though, he stands behind Argo--hand grasping the back of the chair as he continues to control his breathing. Argo reaches back and lays his hand atop Fitzroy’s. He squeezes and glances behind him, giving the barbarian an encouraging smile. Fitzroy feels the tension in his shoulders relax and he nods back, Argo loosening his hold to return his hand to his lap. For a brief moment, Fitzroy misses the contact. 

“I should...I should apologize,” Higglemas says at last. “I should not have let my brother speak for me and I _should_ _have_ let you boys know what my intentions were with the apple. I...I _am_ a coward; I’m not afraid to admit that.” His shoulders sag and he hangs his head just enough to avoid the others’ stares. 

“I knew what would have happened if I told you all the truth. I knew...I knew there would be outrage. Confusion. I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to the mission if you didn’t think the situation was dire, but--but the situation was _still_ dire. I need you to understand that. The things he could have done to my brother if he knew about Hieronymous’s whereabouts is...I can’t even think of it, truth be told. All the Demon Prince wants is _bloodshed_ . There is not a being on Nua that will prevent him from getting what he wants, b-but my brother...my brother stood in opposition anyway. Because he’s _not_ a coward, he stood against him and that--you don’t do that to this guy. S-So all I wanted to _do_ was make sure nothing _could_ happen to Hiero once I restored him. And it’s been a _long_ two months, boys, I’m sure I don’t need to say that to you three but...it’s been grueling in that office. The whole campus _reeks_ of demonic activity; every night I can hear his minions run around the halls of _our_ school. Things have been at a stand-still since you all--well, since you all ‘died’. The H.O.G. opened an investigation into the school--against the ‘headmaster’s will--and no one is allowed in _or_ out of campus.We’re lucky the spell I used both covered us from the Demon Prince’s magical wards _and_ from the naked eye, or else we would have been stuck.” Higglemas looks up at Fitzroy, locking eyes with the short-tempered barbarian. 

“He’s _mad_ , boys. Madder than he’s been in fifty years. He’s...He’s planning _something_. And I just...I couldn’t risk having my brother on the other end of that. I’m sorry.” The two stare at each other as Higglemas’s speech hangs in the air until Fitzroy finally breaks it. He turns away, smiling with derision. 

“I get it,” Fitzroy says, almost laughing to himself. “You sacrifice the lives of many for the life of one.” Higglemas leans back, offended, as Fitzroy turns and levels him with an unimpressed look. “What? Am I lying? You let three students solve your problems for you and become your scapegoats for a demon prince who’s spent the last _fifty years_ waiting to kick your ass. D-Did you even care when you found out we died? Or were you just relieved we managed to complete that final mission? Or maybe...maybe it _worried_ you because you knew that, with us gone, he would turn his attention back to you and your brother!” 

“ _Fitzroy_ ,” Argo warns, looking back at him. Fitzroy huffs but doesn’t continue. Higglemas sighs, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Look, I get it. You’re mad that I risked your lives for my own devices. I-I understand. And, though you may not believe me, I felt _immense_ grief knowing that I was responsible for your deaths. If it weren’t for me assigning you all that mission, you would’ve been at the school safe and sound. I grappled with myself for weeks about that, Fitzroy, but I _had_ to press forward and keep my brother safe. I may not be a hero, but I _am_ Hiero’s sidekick,” He looks at his brother with a small smile, slapping him gently on the knee. “It’s my job to keep him safe.” Hieronymous smiles back at his brother, covering Higglemas’s hand with his own to pat him back. Argo looks at the two and can feel the respect, trust, and admiration they share for each other. In a way, Argo understands why Higglemas did it--it wasn’t that he _wanted_ to; but when stuck between saving the ones you love and not, you’re always going to choose the former. 

Argo thinks of the ends he’d go for the safety of his crew, his friends, his Fitzroy, and can’t find it in him to be that mad. 

Evidently, the same cannot be said for Fitzroy, who sighs and moves away from Argo’s chair to the wall. “Well,” he says flippantly, back to leaning next to Argo’s door. “That’s all fine and dandy, I suppose. Nothing much we can do about it now. All that leaves us with is our _current_ predicament, where your presence could very well mean the end for our lives here. How do you all suppose we settle this, hm? Because, frankly, I’m _not_ willing to give up my place here if you weren’t willing to spare us in your escape plan.” The other four look between each other, unsure of what to do next. Eventually, Hieronymous offers a solution. 

“Well, we hadn’t planned on being here long. Give us a week or so and we’ll be out of your hair, if that’s what you wish,” He pauses for a moment, considering something. “If...that is what you wish. We could try and get you somewhere else, or perhaps back to your homes? The school is not safe, and there’d be no way we could get you there anyway, but your families...I’m sure they would be relieved to see you alive and well--” 

“ _That_ will not be necessary,” Fitzroy pile-drives through his sentence, turning on his heel to storm off to his room. “You’ll be gone by the end of the week? Good. Discussion over. I’m going to bed.” And with that, he slams the door to his room shut, leaving the other four in the wake of the emotional tornado. They sit in the silence for a few moments but are ultimately unable to withstand the tension. Hieronymous and Higglemas say their goodnights, take their key from Argo, and take their leave. 

As soon as the door shuts for good, Argo turns to the Firbolg with a strained, slightly delirious smile.

“Well, that coulda gone a lot _worse_ , at least!” 

\---

Argo leaves his room the next morning and is surprised to see Fitzroy sitting at the dining room table, mug held between his hands as he watches the sunrise from the kitchen window. He nearly turns and runs back to his room, but then he remembers all that transpired yesterday. 

Things are...good. _They_ are good. 

He takes a breath and lets his posture droop once more, settling into the casual morning feel as he walks by Fitzroy to the kitchen. Fitzroy spares him a sleepy smile as he brings his mug up to his lips and Argo tries not to go into cardiac arrest at the sight of his friend’s disheveled yet attractive features. He makes his way over to the coffee pot and sees that it’s already been filled. The strong but pleasant aroma wafts through the air as he takes the pot out of the machine and turns to Fitzroy with it in hand. 

“Did you...make this?” Argo asks, a little surprised. Fitzroy nods, setting his mug on the table. 

“Figured you’d be up soon, and I was already making my tea, so...Least I can do for a friend,” He says the last part deliberately, with a certain tilt of his head and a smile that says: _Hey, can we try this friend thing again?_

Argo can’t help the smile that stretches across his face, silently thanking Fitzroy as he turns back around to grab a mug from the pantry. He grabs his favorite one--a novelty mug of a fish with the tail serving as the handle--and fills it about three quarters of the way. He puts the pot back under the machine and grabs creamer from the fridge, topping his coffee until it becomes a light brown. He puts the creamer back and grabs a spoon, stirring his beverage until it fully turns the desired color. With his drink ready, he decides to join Fitzroy at the table, sitting across from him without a word. The two share a look for a moment before turning back to the window, each sipping on their respective drink in comfortable silence. 

It’s strange, Argo thinks. Only a few days ago he was avoiding Fitzroy like the plague; never too sure if his presence was wanted or not, always struggling to stay away even when he just wanted to help. And now, just like that, everything is...normal. He almost wants to hit himself for not trying to talk it out sooner; though, to be fair, the last time they tried to talk emotions it ended in a very odd situation on the roof. He tries to keep that night out of his mind, though, as it tends to have him go on wild daydreams about all the what-ifs or scenarios that might have transpired if Argo had just leaned in a little closer, a little sooner, a little more… 

“Argo?” Fitzroy asks quietly, to which Argo doesn’t respond. “Argo. Hello?” That gets Argo’s attention, and as he blinks away the rain-soaked scenes he realizes he’s somehow ended up staring directly at the half-elf. “Is there something on my face?” 

“H--Whuh?” Argo mumbles, shaking his head. “Sorry, I must’ve just spaced out lookin’...at yer face--yeah, that’s weird, ‘m sorry.” Fitzroy snorts, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. The genasi quickly drinks his coffee, ignoring the warmth spreading up his neck. 

“It’s fine, Argo. I know my charm and good looks could easily enchant anyone, so sorry you got caught in my spider’s web of physical perfection~” Fitzroy flips a few pieces of hair over his shoulder dramatically and poses his face like a model would, if said model was purposely trying to look like an asshole. Argo rolls his eyes, flipping the barbarian off as he drinks his scalding hot coffee. Fitzroy tuts at the gesture but doesn’t rebut, allowing the morning to lapse back into the same gentle rhythm. 

Argo glances over to the kitchen window and watches the orange light pour over the flat horizon and into their little apartment. Said light bounces off every reflective surface in the kitchen that casts a sort of light show all across the walls and ceiling. Some of those beams even reach the table, highlighting the purple and blue iridescence on Argo’s scales. He turns his hand this way and that; admiring the sparkle along his hand and up his arm without noticing the half-elf watching him. 

“It looks cool,” Fitzroy says rather abruptly, Argo looking up in confusion. Fitzroy gestures down to his arm. “Your scales, I mean. They look cool in the sunlight.” Argo looks down at his arm then back up to Fitzroy and lets out a breathy chuckle. 

“Thanks! Y’know I usually don’t even remember they’re there until mornings like this.” Argo replies, letting his arm rest on the table as he sets his mug down. “It’s nice t’appreciate the small stuff, my Ma would always tell me that. _Especially_ after a night like last night--” 

“Ughhhhhh,” Fitzroy groans, leaning his head back in exasperation. “ _Don’t_ remind me.” Argo snickers to himself. 

“We don’t hafta talk about it if you don’t wanna,” He says, “Though I _am_ kind of surprised at how quickly you blew up in their faces.” Fitzroy lifts his head up to look at Argo, clearly still annoyed with what transpired the night before. 

“Can you _blame_ me though?!” Fitzroy retorts, gesturing with one arm a little wildly. “I mean--okay, so _maybe_ I have a penchant for getting a little... _heated_ \--but they we just!! Here!! A-And Higglemas? Fucking _Higglemas_ ?? _Wow_ , what an asshole!!” Argo nods along. 

“Yeah, he kinda sucks, but I--” He sighs, fiddling with his mug in lieu of looking back at Fitzroy. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened and what he said, an’ I...honestly, Fitz? I don’t know if I’d do anything differently if I were in his shoes…” He looks back up to see Fitzroy staring bug-eyed back at him. He bristles, holding up his hands defensively. “What?? I’m jus’ being honest!” 

“You’d risk _innocent lives_ to protect one person?” Fitzroy asks incredulously, though his tone is not overly judgemental. Argo shrugs. 

“I dunno if I’d do _exactly_ what he did, but I just--Some people are just worth that risk, y’know?” Argo turns his attention back over to the window, watching the sun rise over the waking town below. He looks down at his wrist--at the streaks of yellow over his scales, mingling with the tattoos reminiscent of his life at sea--and sighs. “My Ma always said it was your crew first, the whole world second. That if yer gonna fight for somethin’, make sure it’s either for yourself or yer crew because those two things basically are one. A-And so I’m pretty darn loyal! I may not have what most would consider a ‘crew’ anymore but,” he runs a thumb down his wrist, following the path of the lightning bolt, “I’ve got something pretty close. So I don’t know _what_ I’d do, but I _do_ know what that kind of loyalty will make ya feel comfortable doin’...” A brief moment of silence follows Argo’s words before he hears his compatriot sigh. 

“I...I _guess_ I understand that logic,” Fitzroy admits rather begrudgingly, “but that’s--if it was _you_ I’d be far more forgiving because I. Well, I-I trust you! The same cannot be said for that headmaster, so pardon me if I still find his reasoning a little morally repugnant.” Argo’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead with surprise. He tears his eyes away from his wrist to look at Fitzroy. 

“You...You trust me?” Argo barely manages to get the words out, shock and joy and confusion all leaving him a bit breathless. Fitzroy stares back, eyebrows scrunched and head tilted, looking a little confused himself. 

“Yes? Is this surprising?” 

“Well, I mean, _yeah_!” Argo blurts out with an incredulous sort of laugh. “I know you said yesterday uh, that we were cool and stuff; but I didn’t think it meant...I dunno actually,” He rubs the back of his head meekly, offering a halfhearted shrug. “Guess I’m still not...used to us being okay.” 

“Geez, Argo! You act like--” Fitzroy guffaws, at a loss for words, “You act as if I’ve been this harsh, cruel, cold individual! I,” and then he thinks on it for a moment, his face falling as realization dawns on him. “Ha...Have I been that way?” He looks at the table and Argo feels his heart lurch into his throat at the sight of his friend suddenly looking so forlorn. Argo reaches a hand out and rests it atop Fitzroy’s. 

“No, no! Well--yes? A little or--actually, I think _I’ve_ been doin’ more of the avoidin’ lately, but that was because I thought that’s what _you_ wanted. But yer fine! I-I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, I’m sorry.” Fitzroy huffs and bats Argo’s hand away, causing the genasi to look dejected before Fitzroy could realize what he’s done and then quickly remedy the situation. 

“Argo, you--I’m not mad at you! Truth be told, I haven’t been mad at you in a while! You don’t have to keep sucking up to me a-and treating me like I’m some sort of _king_ !” Fitzroy clarifies, maintaining a tone that is both insistent but not overly accusatory. “I don’t need anyone putting me on some kind of pedestal for no reason. Yes, I _appreciate_ your thoughtfulness in handling the situation, b-but--! It’s over! We made up, we’re chill, we--I don’t want you beating yourself up about it anymore, okay?” He reaches out and catches Argo’s hand--which is sort of hanging limply in the air after being swatted away--forcing the rogue to look at him dead in the eyes. “You deserve kindness and respect just as much as anyone else, okay? Lend yourself the same kindness you’ve lent me.” 

Argo’s heart swells and twists when he gazes into Fitzroy’s eyes. In days past, he’s been sure he had lost the barbarian’s kindness forever; squandered it in the pursuit of legacy and duty to his mother. Every day he told himself he was fine with this was a day that started and ended in lies; every moment he spent sticking around the bar or hiding in his room was another moment he spent regretting ever loving someone. What happened yesterday just hadn’t sunk in yet, but he can’t deny those eyes staring into his. Blue into gold; gold into blue. He feels Fitzroy’s grip loosen as he slowly lowers both of their hands and, for the first time, he doesn’t mourn it like it will be his very last. Slowly but surely, the realization settles in. 

Fitzroy _wants_ Argo around. He cares about him; he feels sorry for making him hurt. He isn’t being cruel or unkind or dismissive. He’s forcing Argo to confront his habit of putting everyone’s feelings above his own--a habit his mother _tried_ to teach out of him, but only amplified when she was gone. Fitzroy’s fingers slip away from Argo’s, and Argo doesn’t reach for them. He knows they’ll return. 

He knows for certain. 

“Thank ya, Fitz,” Argo says softly, hand drifting back to his coffee mug. “I-I should be nicer to m’self; my Ma always said I have a soft heart, as easy to mend as it is to break. But I just--I wanted you to be happy, y’know? I didn’t want any bad blood between us to affect you settlin’ in, which you’ve seem to do quite nicely!” Fitzroy flusters at this, looking away as he sips at his tea. “You’re right though; I gotta start caring as much about myself as I do others.” 

“You better,” Fitzroy chides, pointing an accusatory finger at the man. “Or else I will make the Firbolg do another feelings-talk Game Night.” Argo bellows out a laugh at this with Fitzroy joining in soon after. The recent memory of their quiet-but-determined friend forcing them to hash things out fills them both with a fond appreciation for the people in their lives. After a few moments, the laughter dies down as Fitzroy wipes a tear from his eye. “Ooookay, as CEO I’m decreeing there be no more serious conversation this morning because I am _too_ fucking tired for anymore.” 

“Aye, I second that decree,” Argo nods, going to sip his coffee before pausing. “Wait, can CEOs make decrees?” 

“They can in _this_ company, Argonaut Keene!” Fitzroy retorts with a cheeky grin. Argo snorts and shakes his head, finishing the rest of his lukewarm coffee so he can get a start on today. Fitzroy takes one last sip of his tea before making a face (having realized it’s now completely cold) and standing up to dump it out. As he walks away, a thought pops into Argo’s head. 

“Oh, wait! I almost forgot to tell ya!” He says, standing up himself to place his cup in the sink. “Zephyr and Nikolai’s birthday party is this Friday! They invited the three of us, along with a bunch of their own buddies, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go?” Fitzroy looks surprised by this invitation and Argo remembers him and his twin friends are not exactly acquainted. “I-It’s fine if you don’t! I know they’re kinda _my_ friends, but I figured if we all went together then maybe they could become your friends too!” Fitzroy mulls the invite over (mostly for show, as he decided within the first few seconds that he would go) while Argo brushes past him to the sink. He almost starts to get worried about Fitzroy saying no when the half-elf smiles. 

“I don’t see why not. So long as you’re ready to be upstaged by the most impressive dresser this town has ever seen and beheld,” He nudges Argo with a mischievous smile, brushing past him to make his way to his bedroom. “I’ll be seeing you, Argo.” Argo turns and watches him walk away; Fitzroy walks with a kind of saunter, hips swishing side-to-side in a way Argo’s never seen before. It makes his face burn and his throat go dry, but he shakes the sight out of his mind before it leaves him there floundering like a fish for the rest of the day. 

Still, even without the obvious dramatics, this whole morning has felt...different. And it isn’t just because they’re on speaking terms. Something about the way Fitzroy was talking to him was...kinder than before. Gentler. More sincere. And his little flirts? Were they flirts? Is Argo misinterpreting? 

His heart and head fight for control of the query; but for the first time since he’s admitted these feelings to himself, he feels as if he might... _actually_ have a shot. 

Huh…

\---

“Huh…” is all Nikolai can say after Argo concludes his explanation. They sip their lemonade contemplatively as Zephyr nods to himself, processing the words in his own silent contemplation. Argo wipes down the bartop, for lack of a better thing to do, and tries not to let his nerves show. 

It’s Tuesday now; the day prior practically lost in the overthinking Argo occupied himself with. The twins came in for their usual lunch break and Argo could barely hold himself back from telling them everything that happened (well, _almost_ everything that happened). 

“Am I crazy?” Argo asks, unable to stand the silence any longer, “I-I mean--what does this read like to you guys? Because it seems--I dunno!” 

“What was he like the rest of the day?” Zephyr asks, popping a kettle chip in his mouth as he continues to think. Argo whips the rag over his shoulder and forces his hands to not fidget as he recalls the rest of the day. 

“Well, he was fine! We had dinner together, all three of us, a-and he was chill! Things actually felt kind of _normal_ for once…” Argo says. “B-But there was one moment--after dinner was done, Roy was going up to the roof to meditate, a-and I got nervous because I thought he was goin’ out for a run. So I tried to stop him, and before I could even get a _word_ out, he just kind of...laid his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with this--with this _smile_ and said, ‘I’m fine, Aaron, don’t worry about me.’ B-But it was just--he, like, _slid_ his hand off my shoulder! Like, sensually? Was it sensually? Oh, gods,” His nerves get the better of him and he leans over the counter, hands lodging themselves in his hair. “I’m _so_ screwed…” Nikolai and Zephyr look to each other and chuckle, Argo groaning as he lets his head thunk against the polished wood. 

“I mean, I think you’re looking a little _too_ hard into that moment, buddy.” Zephyr says, patting Argo on the back for comfort. “I’m glad y’all have made up, but I think you’re just letting your heart speak a little too loudly.” Argo nods into the wood, already certain that’s what is happening, when Nikolai suddenly grabs Zephyr’s arm. He looks to his sibling and sees their face in a blank state, eyes wide open and mouth slightly parted. Zephyr knows this face all too well and can’t help but feel a little worried. 

That is, after all, Nikolai’s thinking face. 

“But what if...he isn’t?” Nikolai mutters to the air. Argo picks his head off the counter to look at the tiefling. 

“What if _who_ isn’t?” Zephyr asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“What if…” Nikolai trails off, staring into space for a pregnant pause before they suddenly jolt. Their olive-green eyes shine with a wild fire as a wide grin splits across their face. “Boys, what if _we_ were wrong?” The other two share a look of confusion, then turn to Nikolai to give them the same. 

“Wrong about what?” Argo asks, spurring Nikolai into motion. They hop off their stool to sit cross-legged on the bar (a move that Lyra would definitely not approve of), hands at the ready in front of them. They’re buzzing with a strange kind of energy; like they’ve solved the puzzle before the other two had a chance to see it. They lean in conspiratorially--despite the fact that they are both completely obvious and the only three in the bar right now--and the other two follow suit. 

“Now, I’m not gonna _say_ this is partially y’alls fault, but what if you two,” they reach out and flick both Zephyr’s and Argo’s foreheads at the same time, “were massively misinterpreting the situation because of your dumb crushes? And Roy was _never_ with Wyatt; they were just hanging out and, y’know, becoming _friends_? You’ve said yourself that Roy is super kind and genuine to those he trusts, Aaron. So, what if he’s just gotten comfortable with Wyatt like you’ve gotten comfortable with us? There’s really no evidence to prove that they’re anything more than buddies, if you think about it!” Argo pauses at this, his rational part of his brain parsing through the theory Nikolai supposed. 

“But how does that explain all the time they spend together?” Zephyr says, still unconvinced. 

“They’re friends! Zeph, how many hours would you say we spend hanging with our good friend Aaron right here?” Nikolai counters with a knowing smirk. Zephyr opens his mouth to reply, but after a moment he slowly shuts it again. “ _See_ , now you’re gettin’ it! I’m not sayin’ that idea is completely _off_ the table; I’m just saying that maaaaybeeeee we jumped the gun a bit?” The two are silent, the gears slowly turning as Nikolai watches with an expectant grin. 

After a moment, Zephyr slaps a hand to his forehead as Argo lets out the longest sigh possible. Nikolai leans back, laughing gleefully at their friend and brother’s expense. 

“I’m... _really_ stupid, aren’t I?” Zephyr asks, muffled by his hand. Nikolai makes a noise of affirmation and pats his head daintily. “Yeah...Yeah thanks, sib.” Meanwhile, Argo’s mind races through every interaction he’s seen like a frantic detective, assessing the myriad of pins on his board and contemplating which were really leads and which were just assumptions. 

“But--wait, if that’s true, then...oh _fuck_ .” Argo slaps his hands to his cheeks to shield the rapidly spreading blush from showing. “ _Has_ he been flirting with me???” 

“I don’t think so,” Nikolai replies, to which Argo sighs in relief. “I can’t be sure, though.” Argo immediately becomes anxious again. Nikolai rolls their eyes and slaps Argo on the arm. “Calm down! I’m not gonna sit here and fuckin’ _lie_ to ya if I’m not sure. All I’m gonna say is that we have an opening to guarantee a happy ending for everybody!” Zephyr, having accepted the situation, now returns to his food while Argo takes a few breaths and stops overreacting. 

“What are you proposing?” Zephyr says with an inquisitive quirk of his brow. Nikolai smirks and pops one of Zephyr’s chips into their mouth. 

“We have a party coming up, don’t we?” Nikolai mentions innocently. “What better time to show Roy what he’s missing than when surrounded by a sea of people he doesn’t know. Let Aaron take centerstage--doll him up, have him looking fucking irresistable--and we can see for certain whether or not Roy’s interested! Then, with those two canoodling, _you_ can swoop in and show the lovesick puppy who he should _really_ be pining over.” The plan is too good to be true, but hell if Argo isn’t thinking about the multitude of possibilities that might come from it. “And, if we’re lucky, you two can get some dick and calm the fuck down.” Zephyr chokes on a chip as Argo’s brain short-circuits, causing Nikolai to cackle wickedly. Zephyr blindly swats at his sibling and they counter his jabs while continuing to laugh. 

“One, gross. Two, gross. Three, don’t ever speak to me again.” Zephyr says, face undoubtedly flushed (even for his red skin tone). Nikolai rolls their eyes. 

“I mean--I wouldn’t _object_ but--” Argo instantly regrets ever opening his mouth. “H-How am I supposed to, uh….t’ ‘lure him in’?” Nikolai turns their mischievous energy towards the bumbling genasi and shrugs casually. 

“Just be yourself! You’re plenty interesting and charismatic on your own, buddy, you don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not.” They go quiet for a moment, an even more nefarious thought popping in their head. “ _Though_ , if you’d like a little...boost? In the looks department? Maybe a fresh fit for the occasion? I could be of some assistance~” They steeple their fingers together, leaning forward and giving the rogue an almost sinister stare. Argo wants to dismiss their offer, but something stops him. 

What has him treating this situation any different than all the other times he’s passively flirted or slid up next to someone at a bar? There’s an immediate, glaring difference; but Argo ignores it for now. This isn’t to make Fitzroy love him; this is to see if he’d be interested in finding out. He shouldn’t be putting this amount of time and worry over it. He should just have fun! Even if he ends up hurting himself in the process, he’s willing to at least try! Besides, Nikolai seems _incredibly_ interested in doing a makeover, and it _is_ their birthday party. 

Before reason can critique his decision, Argo agrees to the makeover. The twins both look equally as shocked to hear him agree, but Nikolai is instantly ecstatic at the prospect of making their best friend look his best. The two begin brainstorming outfit ideas--throwing out styles and colors that Argo doesn’t think would catch Fitzroy’s eye or suit his own aesthetics--and the rest of their lunch break passes quickly. By the time either twin can check and realize they’re about to be late in opening the shop back open, a plan has been decided. Nikolai excitedly exits the bar, waving back at Argo and promising they’ll come back tomorrow with some outfits sketched out. Zephyr hangs around for a moment, waiting for his sibling to leave without him before he sighs. 

“Listen, I’m just gonna say this and you can decide whether or not it applies to you, okay?” He starts. Argo looks at him quizzically but says nothing. “Just...think about what it is you _really_ want. Because I’ve been in plenty of situations where I’ve desired something just because I’ve wanted to desire anything at all, or because I just wanted approval. And I know for a fact within myself that my feelings for Wyatt extend beyond jus--just wanting someone around, or wanting someone to want me. I just want you to think,” he reaches out and rests a hand on Argo’s shoulder, “do you want Roy because you honestly like him? Or do you just want _anybody_ to give you the same amount of care you give everyone else, and you decided the one person to prove you’re worthy of love is him?” And then, without another word, he walks away. 

The door swings shut behind him, leaving Argo to stare at nothing. Dazed and confused and a little petrified of what the tiefling’s words meant. 

\---

The trees stretch on for miles and miles, nothing but foliage and the wilderness to fill their senses. Zana has grown about sick of all the trees around her; growing up in the city means sights like this were not a common occurrence to her. And as much as they’re nice in small doses, she’s wishing for any sort of building or street to appear and guide them the rest of the way. She beats another mosquito away and huffs, legs stiff and sore from the days of walking. 

At least Rhodes has decided to slow down; their pace changing from an insane speed walk to a more casual stroll. It gives them enough time to take in the scenery around them, though that no longer is an interest to the tiefling. She’s occupied with better things than some dumb trees and stupid dirt; like practicing her spells, and pranking Rolandus, and--

“Awww, Zana, look! I think I see a bird’s carcass over there!” Zana turns and sees Rainer pointing excitedly to their left, blonde hair shining as bright as her eyes as she gestures. “Damnit, if only we weren’t on a dire mission to save our friends, or else I would’ve brought my formaldehyde!” Zana laughs quietly, ignoring the warmth on her cheeks as she continues to walk beside her friend. 

The only nice thing about this mission has been the amount of time Zana has spent with a certain necromancer. She can’t deny that she’s been abusing the ability to talk to Rainer all hours of the day; something which she usually would have less time to do because of classes and homework and her extracurriculars. She briefly wonders how the lacrosse team has been doing without their star player, but then Rainer starts laughing at something and suddenly nothing else matters. 

Okay, so maybe Zana has it a _bit_ bad for her best friend. She usually tries to ignore it (not wanting to ruin their friendship, as there is no possible way Rainer reciprocates), but with nothing else but forest to think about she’s been dealing with it full-force. 

“What are you laughing at?” Zana asks, warm smile threatening to reveal her innermost feelings. Rainer looks over and snorts, then points behind them. 

“Saw a bear poopin’,” is all she says in response, to which Zana snorts and begins to laugh herself. It’s so _ridiculous_ how everything Rainer says has the capacity to make Zana laugh, but pardon her if she’s a little gay for her best friend sometimes. 

Read: all the time. 

“Actually, hey, can I talk to you about something?” Rainer’s voice cuts through Zana’s homoerotic inner monologue, and she looks down to see the necromancer looking more serious than usual. “I-It’s nothing serious, but--actually, wait, it’s totally serious what the fuck am I talking about--” 

“--Hey, it’s okay!” Zana says quickly, stopping Rainer from going on a tangent without explaining herself (as she is wont to do from time to time). “We can talk. Is it--do we need to stop?” 

“No!” Rainer says a little too loud, looking frantically around her before floating a little faster. Zana picks up her stride to follow and realizes they’ve now been put at a perfect distance between Leon and Rhodes (at the lead) and Rolandus and Buckminster (at the caboose). Rainer turns to Zana casually, but her face has lost its enthusiastic glow. She looks tired (understandable), serious (concerning), and a little...scared? 

“What’s going on?” Zana whispers, far more afraid for them than she’s been in a while. Rainer sighs and looks ahead, maintaining a casual posture so as to not draw suspicion towards their conversation. 

“You gotta promise to keep this between us, okay?” She says, to which Zana immediately nods. The two lock pinkies in a silent declaration of trust and Rainer smiles. “Thanks, babe.” Her wording trips Zana up--literally--and Rainer squeaks in surprise as Zana almost eats shit on an errant root. The action was big enough to get the boys’ attention at the back, Buckminster bellowing out a laugh and Rolandus says something snarky that’s too far away to be heard. Zana turns and flips them both off, brushing off her slip-up and keeping pace with Rainer. 

“S-Sorry about that. I fucking hate the woods,” Zana mutters, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets with a huff. Rainer snickers but doesn’t comment. “Anyway, you were saying?” 

“Right, so just. Quick preface? I’m not _too_ sure about what I’m about to tell you, which is actually _why_ I wanted to tell you.” Rainer starts, “You have a pretty good head on your shoulders, and usually when I talk things out to you I find understanding in what I’m saying! So, uh, so I might go on a bit of a ramble-fest. Fair warning.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that to me,” Zana replies with a teasing smile. Rainer smiles back. 

“And it won’t be the last, my dear,” Rainer coos teasingly. Zana ignores the pet-name and wills away her embarrassed flush. “Anyway, so...Okay. Have you--wait, well--fuck! Have you noticed anything... _weird_ about Leon?” The question confuses Zana immediately, her gaze automatically finding the fighter a half mile ahead of them. He seems to be talking cheerily with Rhodes, shoulders shaking with laughter as does the ranger’s. “Barring the fact that he was, like, _completely gone_ for like a month and a half. Or, wait--actually, keep that in mind. He’s been weird since he’s been back, right? Like, I’m not the only one who hasn’t noticed how he’s not...himself?” Zana thinks on this for a moment, considering the man ahead of her. 

Rainer intuition isn’t wrong; something has changed in their beefy, bald friend. The day that he came back is a little foggy--mostly because memories of that day are focused on mourning the supposed deaths of their friends--but she’s noticed how...cagey Leon has been. He has a tendency to trail off and suddenly go strangely silent, which is different from the silent-but-present approach Leon has always taken to conversations. He’s also prone to deflecting, now. Asking him about his time away from the school results in an almost immediate topic change, to the point where Zana decided it would be easier to ask Buckminster what happened. But he’s strangely clueless about the situation as well; a fact that gives the sorcerer an eerie chill. 

“Now that you mention it, he has been...strange recently,” Zana affirms, shaking herself of the cold feeling on her back. “He doesn’t really talk about where he went, does he?” 

“No! That was my _first_ red flag, truth be told. My second is that Buckminster doesn’t seem to know anything, which is _weird_ .” Rainer explains, “Those two have been glued to each other’s sides since _long_ before they got here. Buck has mentioned that they grew up together? So how the _fuck_ does your _best friend_ just up and _leave_ \--for a whole _month_ , mind you--and you just...don’t know anything about it? And he’s _fine_ with it, by the way. Like. Strangely fine with it.” Rainer goes silent for a moment, her expression grim. “Like, strange in the he’s been _made_ fine with it.” Zana pales at the notion that comes to mind, looking frightened at Rainer. 

“Are you saying he’s...not himself? Like, as in he’s been _replaced_?” Zana asks, her voice a breath above a whisper. Rainer shakes her head quickly. 

“Not exactly. I think he’s been influenced by something--or _someone_ \--and it’s made him alright with the lack of information.” Rainer explains, looking around herself to see if anyone’s gotten closer before she speaks again. “I _may_ have attempted to cast a charm spell on Buckminster last night to see if he’d be swayed, and--surprise, surprise--it didn’t do anything! Meaning somebody _else_ already has Buckminster charmed to a certain degree.” A frozen lump forms in Zana’s gut. 

“Y...You mean he’s being mind-controlled?” She manages to get out. Rainer nods subtly. “D-Do...Do you think it’s _Leon_ ? O-Or is that-- _is_ that even Leon? What if it’s whoever is responsible for the Thundermen’s disappearance? Like, they escaped _because_ of it--a-and now we’re just leading it right to them!!” Her panic starts to seep into her physicality; and, before she’s able to alert any of her other friends to the pair, Rainer reaches out and grasps Zana’s hand firmly. 

“ _Hey_ , it’s okay,” Rainer murmurs, steadying the tiefling with the briefest contact. “I _also_ happened to do a quick spell on Leon last night to find out that exact thing. And, given that I could see the exact location of his soul--safely inside of his sleeping chest--I’d say that he _isn’t_ some sort of imposter.” That calms Zana down, relieved sigh escaping her lips as Rainer continues, “I think there’s just...more to this situation than we know. And the only person who has any indication as to what the truth _really_ is...is Leon…” Zana looks at Rainer, the two locking eyes for a brief moment of understanding. 

There is more than what meets the eye here. And it seems they won’t know anything until somebody decides to speak up. 

“Well, guess we’ll have to see when we get there, won’t we?” Zana asks, knowing already what the answer is. 

They walk for another hour in silence, taking in the sounds and sights of the forest around them. 

And with each step, Zana hopes her friends will be at the end of it. 

\---

The boundaries of Dust Field are pretty vague, considering it’s a small town surrounded by nothing for miles in all directions. The town itself is only a few miles long and all the buildings are located on the central road that runs through. Everything they need they’ve localized within the town, so most of the buildings don’t take advantage of the endless miles of space behind them. Some of the residents have created small, fenced-in backyards behind their homes--ample room for children to play and private gardens to grow. 

The apartment complex doesn’t utilize its “backyard” space. But, in this past week, Fitzroy’s decided to make the space his own. 

Hand-crafted targets of a multitude of shapes and sizes rest in a large chest he bought off of Jenny. On the ground, marks have been made and numbered to show the distance between himself and his targets. In a separate chest, he keeps a multitude of throwables and long-ranged weapons; knives, handaxes, a slingshot, and a bow and arrow to be exact. He told himself it was to help train his precision and keep his fighting skills brushed up. 

But, as he chucks handaxe after handaxe at the man-shaped target, each of them making their mark in other its chest or head, he knows that it’s about a bit more. 

The sun beats down on his back, white tank top practically see-through as it clings to sweat-covered skin. His hair is tied in a ponytail, exposing the undercut he hasn’t kept up with since he shaved all those months ago. The hair has gotten long back there, but Fitzroy is still debating whether he should let it grow out or to shave it again. As it stands, the hair only serves as a place for the sweat to go, collecting as Fitzroy throws axes with tremendous force at the targets he set up. 

Jenny sent him home about two hours ago, suddenly deciding she wanted to close up shop for the day. Though, as Fitzroy passed by the bar and saw Lyra dressed up in some fancy get-up, he had a feeling the occasion was more than just spontaneous. Still, it gave him the rest of the afternoon to dick around and blow off some steam in the backyard, which he greatly needed. The activity gives him the ability to completely space, only registering the motion of throwing and the distant thunk of blade against wood. The only thing that would make this better is if someone were around--maybe Argo or Wyatt or the Firbolg, just to sit around and shoot the shit with him. 

Hm, maybe Argo’s gotten off work too? Fitzroy should go inside and see-- 

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice halts Fitzroy, and not in the good way. He stands there, back facing the voice, and lets out labored breath through his nose. 

_Don’t lose your cool, Fitzroy_ , he tells himself. “Horace! So...so _good_ to see you!” His voice is dripping with sarcasm as he spins around to face the (former) headmaster. Higglemas stares at him for a moment, confusion passing over his face before he comes to a quick realization. He waves at the half-elf, who does not reciprocate, and walks the few steps it takes to reach him. 

“Hello, Roy,” Higglemas says cooly, looking around at the equipment. “Practicing your throwing skills? I didn’t take you as a throwable weapons type.” 

“Yes, well, one mustn’t keep all their eggs in one basket, or however the saying goes,” Fitzroy says quickly, his voice in the cadence he put on at school. He uses their cover identities just in case, but he has any doubts someone will walk out here and hear him speaking like a little posh boy. He turns away from Higglemas and walks towards the back door, hoping to find Argo or the Firbolg or _anyone_ to get him away from this man. “Well, if you don’t mind, I need to go upstairs and deal with personal matters. Goodbye, Horace, great talk as alwa--” 

“Wait!” Higglemas shouts, a little desperately. Fitzroy turns and glares at the elf, who quickly regains his cool composure and continues. “I don’t suppose you could...teach an old man some new tricks?” Fitzroy shifts, crossing his arms and cocking his hip out with one eyebrow arched--the perfect picture of someone who ain’t buying your bullshit. “C’mon, Roy...Just for a bit? I promise I won’t take up too much of your time.” Fitzroy considers the man in front of him for a moment. He’s very tempted to just flip him off, turn around, and avoid him entirely. But then he thinks about what Argo said that next morning, about trust and loyalty and all that garbage. 

_I dunno if I’d do exactly what he did, but I just--Some people are just worth that risk, y’know..._

_I don’t know what I’d do, but I do know what that kind of loyalty will make ya feel comfortable doin’..._

“Fine.” Fitzroy mutters, stomping over to his spot, not bothering to wait for Higglemas to follow. “But only because I’m not done practicing.” He retrieves a handaxe from the bucket at his feet and tosses it to Higglemas, who barely reacts in time to catch it, before grabbing one for himself. “You just line up your shot and throw overhand, honestly, I don’t know how you don’t know this.” He very quickly demonstrates, landing his shot directly in the target’s face. He has a feeling Higglemas already knows how to throw a handaxe, but he’ll take an opportunity to openly ridicule the man. 

Higglemas turns the axe in his hands a few times, contemplating the target in front of him. He then gets into position, lines up his shot, and throws with tremendous strength at the target. The axe is a little misdirected--clipping the top of the target’s head instead of hitting its face--but the force is strong enough to tear the head clean off. It lands about ten feet behind the target (now on the ground), landing with a muffled thud against the sandy ground. Fitzroy stares at the target for a moment, mouth parted in a small “o”. 

“How’s that?” Higglemas asks with a knowing smirk. Fitzroy regains himself, looks to Higglemas, and scoffs. 

“Didn’t land on the target proper, but that was...okay, I guess.” 

They set up new targets and continue throwing. Now the practice has become a game to see who can get the most points, appealing to the men’s competitive edge. Other than the occasional quip or insult, though, no words are spoken. The only sounds that permeate the air are the whizzing winds of the axes, the solid thuds of the axes against wood, and the occasional double-knock of Fitzroy’s foot against the bucket containing the axes--summoning all the axes to return to the bucket proper. 

Higglemas uses one of these return periods to speak. “Where’d you learn to enchant a recall spell?” Fitzroy looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Wyatt enchanted this for me,” He explains, picking up a handaxe to begin anew. “I saw he had done it to his tools at the shop and I asked if he could do it for my throwables. Makes practice a whole lot easier when you don’t have to keep walking back-and-forth to pick them up.” Higglemas hums in response, picking up an axe of his own and throwing. 

“And this Wyatt is…” 

“My coworker,” Fitzroy responds curtly, “You won’t get the chance to meet him because you’ll be _leaving_ soon, like you said.” He throws this axe extra hard; it lands on the bottom half of the target. Fitzroy curses under his breath as Higglemas watches him. 

“Well, we don’t necessarily _have_ to leave by the end of the week. Hier-- _Henry_ needs some time off the train; the tight spaces overwhelm him sometimes--” Fitzroy turns in a second, staring Higglemas down with violent intent. 

“You will leave _within the week_ . Like you _said_.” Fitzroy says, voice cold and harsh. Higglemas looks back at him and holds his ground, squaring his shoulder and lifting his head. His brother may have the height advantage over Fitzroy, but he can be just as commanding against the bratty half-elf. 

“We will leave _soon_ ,” Higglemas shoots back, a bit more forcefully. “He needs his rest; the years he lost as a dog are slowly returning to him, and he still finds the world to be a bit overwhelming. I _promise_ we will be courteous to you and your privacy, but in turn you must be courteous to _our_ predicament.” Fitzroy rolls his eyes, scoffing as he throws another perfectly-arched axe at the target. This time it hits too high. 

“Oh, yes, remind me how it is you got in that situation in the first place? Wait, I remember!” Fitzroy poses innocently as he grabs another axe, “Wasn’t it that you exploited a _number_ of students to do your bidding for ambiguous purposes, and then used the fruits of their labor--that forced them to flee the school and erase their identities from the world entirely--to escape the demon-infested school with your brother? Or am I remembering a _different_ coward?” Higglemas grabs an axe of his own, throwing with extra force so it splits the handle of the axe it lands directly on top of him. 

“Don’t act like you’re without faults, _Roy_ . Or should I say _Fitzroy_ ; you honestly seemed to have a little trouble differentiating which one was supposed to represent you.” Higglemas responds, voice layered with as much mocking malice as Fitzroy. “Let’s not forget the two camps of _centaurs_ you _traumatized_ with your display of power. Or that man who, after you ripped his _hand_ off, mysteriously ended up dying! Oh, however did _that_ happen, I wonder?” 

“I’ll have you _know_ , _Horace_ ,” Fitzroy grits through his teeth, throwing another axe that embeds itself in the base of the target. “That that man _died_ because of the demon prince _you_ were supposed to defeat years ago! So, if anything, his blood is on _your_ hands! And who knows how many other people I could say the same for, since that _same_ demon prince continues to be the _headmaster of your school_!” Higglemas grabs two axes this time and throws them both, hacking off both outer sides of the target and lands a few meters away. 

“Where the hell do you get off, huh!? Why is it that you _insist_ on shoving my failures and mistakes right in front of my face at every possible opportunity!?!” 

“ _Because_ I want you to understand the consequences of your cowardice! So many people like you think they can just--just _leave_ and nothing will happen to them! So I’m fucking _showing you_ that your actions have _dire_ ! _Consequences_!” Fitzroy throws an axe, this time charged with Thunderwave. It blows his target to smithereens. 

Neither man notices. 

“Who the hell are _you_ to show me _my_ consequences!? Might I remind you that you’ve run just as much as I?? Your mother thinks you’re _dead_ , Fitzroy!! How’s _that_ for a fucking consequence!?” 

“That’s _DIFFERENT_ !” Fitzroy stops throwing axes and instead throws a bolt of lightning. It lands on the ground with a thunderous boom, throwing everything into a sudden silence. “AND IT’S _ROY_ ! I...I don’t want to be associated with that anymore, okay!? Not from _you_ , of all people…” His temper drops with that magical outburst, leaving him huffing where he stands. Higglemas stares at the spot of scorched earth some meters ahead of him, not for the first time understanding the incredible power hidden below the surface of this boy. The two stand there for a long while, panting under the hot sun, before Fitzroy numbly kicks the bucket. The axes all return to their home, unaffected by the explosion of emotions that just transpired. 

Silence. Sweat. Heat. 

Finally, Higglemas speaks. 

“I…” He starts, his mouth struggling to find the words, “I’m sorry, Roy...I--You’re right, you know? You always have been….I’m a coward. I’m a fraud. I’m whatever you want to call me. I ran from my problems instead of facing them head on, and because of that there is a school of innocent people at the hands of a diabolical man. I-I deserve to be put in my place.” He pauses for a moment, hands balled into fists at his sides. “But you know what else I am? I’m a _brother_ , Roy. A brother a-and a friend, and someone who wasn’t willing to let my brother die in my arms fifty years ago. So, yes, I’ve made a litany of mistakes. My sins will weigh on my back for the _rest_ . Of my _life_ , Roy. Don’t you think I understand that? But for my sacrifices, my brother--the _real_ hero, the _real_ good man--is safe and living for another day longer. S-So, I won’t apologize. I will apologize for the harm I’ve caused you, but I will _not_ apologize for saving him. Not for the rest of my life will you ever get me to do that…” 

Roy stands there, caught between feeling angry and feeling sorry, before he realizes he doesn’t know _how_ to feel. Higglemas turns and faces him, eyes misty but kind. 

“I know that facing me has been a way to face your own guilt,” he says matter-of-factly. Fitzroy’s eyes widen in surprise; Higglemas laughs wryly. “Please, I’ve done my fair share of self-projection to know when someone’s using a _mirror_ to point at me. And I...I shouldn’t have equated your situation to mine, and for that I _am_ sorry. You ran because of _my_ cowardice; not out of cowardice bred from your own reservations. Y-Your mother...I shouldn’t have done that. I-I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Fitzroy responds on instinct, not quite ready to talk about her. “I--I suppose I, well--I-I guess I could say that I’m--fuck. I’m sorry Higglemas. Y--I was _completely_ fair in calling out your bullshit, natch, thank you for understanding that. But I...I’ve put the weight of the world on your shoulders and expected you to hoist it, and that isn’t fair to you. I don’t. _Understand_ you, but I can...I can understand the motive.” His face burns with embarrassment that he hopes translates as a sun-kissed feel. “I just--I’m sort of stuck between two halves of myself, and I’m not quite sure which one is real and which I--it’s not important. I did a bit of self-projecting and I shouldn’t’ve, so I am...sorry for that.” The words hang in the air, neither man accustomed to this kind of talk, and an awkward silence follows. Finally, Higglemas smiles and pats Fitzroy gently on the shoulder. 

“If it’s anything, I’d say you’ve done quite a good job both where you are now and where you’ve been. Whatever decision you make will have a good outcome, I’m sure of it.” The statement is short and almost laughably vague, but it still brings Fitzroy a sense of...comfort. He doesn’t show it, though; he lets the headmaster stand there for a moment before dropping his hand and walking slowly back inside without a word. Fitzroy waits until he hears the sound of the door shut before he lets the smallest of smiles grace his lips. 

As much as Higglemas acts like his father, there is a clear difference between the two. 

Higglemas can admit to his failures and faults. Jerry cannot. 

Fitzroy sighs, pushing memories of the estranged man to the very back of his mind as he starts to clean up the area. He puts the bucket of axes inside the weapons chest against the wall of the building, shutting and locking it. He then works on the targets, collecting the man-shaped ones he used earlier and throwing them into the targets chest; the decapitated one he tosses in there regardless, telling himself he’ll collect it in the morning to bring back to the shop. Finally, he turns his attention to the bullseyes, which is when he notices something peculiar. 

The remaining bullseye seems to have a little...friend perched atop it. As Fitzroy gets closer, he notices the friend is actually a large bird. The bird stares at him, head cocked to one side, and Fitzroy figures from its size, shape, and color that it must be some kind of crow. The crow doesn’t attempt to fly away as Fitzroy carefully approaches; rather, it seems to be _wanting_ Fitzroy to come closer. 

“Hey there, little guy,” Fitzroy coos out to the bird, smiling. He’s always admired birds for their grace and intelligence; in his youth, his mother used to tell him all about the birds in their area. He knows that crows, like the raven, are highly intelligent creatures and so he isn’t surprised with the crow’s willingness to let him approach. The crow lets out a caw as Fitzroy finally gets within arm’s reach of the bird, jumping in place as if it was expecting something. 

From this close, Fitzroy can see the beautiful shine of the bird’s ebony feathers; the depth of its beady, red eyes. He smiles at the bird, suddenly aware of the fact that he’s not a thing to give it. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t have any food for you.” Fitzroy says to the bird, watching its movements with delighted attention. The bird leans towards Fitzroy expectantly, staring down at his hand. Fitzroy follows the bird’s stare, a little perplexed as to what it might want. “What is it, buddy? Do you…” He lifts his hand up, the bird following his movement with its body. Fitzroy considers the bird for a moment, “Do you...want me to hold you?” The crow caws again, hopping atop the target. Fitzroy laughs to himself. “Well, okay, I suppose if you don’t mind.” He reaches slowly out towards the bird--his mother’s instructions on how to properly offer a bird your hand echoing through his head--and the bird watches this movement with rapt attention. He inches closer and closer, feeling a strange pit of dread form in his stomach, and just as he gets close enough…

The crow bites him. 

“OW!” Fitzroy cries out, yanking his hand back as he cradles his injured hand. The crow caws two more times before taking off into the skies, slowly becoming nothing more than a black speck in the light blue sky. He looks down at his hand and hisses at the line of blood trailing down from the side of his pointer finger. 

“Stupid fucking bird…” Fitzroy grumbles to himself, abandoning the target for a moment so he can run inside and address his wound. 

\---

Friday comes sooner than expected for everyone, and Fitzroy anxiously awaits the designated time for the party by pacing around the apartment like an idiot. Jenny closed the workshop down early again, being just as vague as the day prior as to why, which gave the half-elf plenty of time to stress over an outfit. He isn’t really friends with the tiefling tattoo twins, but he _is_ aware of their aesthetics. He wonders what kind of dress code (if any) is in place; is everyone going to be dressed as gothic and/or punky as the two of them are? Fitzroy doesn’t have a pair of platform boots out here! 

After much deliberation and advice from the Firbolg (which consisted mostly of head nods and the phrase “Is good”), he settles on an outfit...only to realize the party is still four hours away. So he changes out of the outfit, irons it, checks for any tears, and checks the time again: three hours and fifty minutes. He goes for a run, shaving off only another hour. Then, he takes a shower--which, even with all the pamper and self-care he does, only whittles him down to two hours. He tries to trance for a while to no avail, then he tries knitting the time away. Once he realized he was out of yarn, he angrily stormed to his room and flopped onto his bed. He stares up at the ceiling fan, watching it spin and spin and spin, and slowly he nods off for some time.

He awakens to a knock on the door, the Firbolg announcing there is thirty minutes left until the party, and Fitzroy panics. Quickly, he throws on his outfit and does his hair, debating on if he should do any makeup while he has the time. He decides on some light stuff--a touch of foundation and concealer to cover up his noticeable blemishes, a bit of blush to rosy up the cheeks, some mascare to brighten his eyes, and a smidge of highlighter to really make him glow--and then throws on chapstick for good measure. Looking at himself in the mirror, he deems his appearance acceptable, and comes outside to see the party starts in about five minutes. Just enough time to walk casually-yet-briskly to the Silver Spurs Tattoo & Piercing Parlor. 

Approaching the shop, Fitzroy suddenly becomes very aware of how popular the twins must be. People flood inside the doors of the parlor; some he recognizes, but a _lot_ seem to be out-of-towners. They’re all dressed far more casually than Fitzroy (a sharp pang erupting in Fitzroy’s chest as he realizes he’s overdressed _again_ ) and are chatting amongst themselves as they enter. The building vibrates with a loud bass, thumping and bumping and signifying to the barbarian the kind of night he’s about to have. He turns to the Firbolg, who beholds the parlor with a kind of terrified reverence, and rests a hand on his arm. 

“You know if it gets too much, you can just leave, right buddy?” He says, offering the big man an encouraging smile. “These kinds of parties aren’t necessarily my ‘thing’ either, so you can stick by me if you want.” The Firbolg breaks away from the sort of spell the house cast over him and smiles down at Fitzroy. 

“I...appreciate this, but I will be fine.” The Firbolg replies. “I have moss plugged into ears. Helps muffle the noise.” Fitzroy nods, a little baffled, but ultimately lets it be. Good on him for figuring that out, Fitzroy thinks. Maybe he should ask for some moss. 

Nope. No, Fitzroy. You’re gonna be a big boy and party hard, alright? Nothing’s going to happen here; it’s not Clyde Nite’s, you’re going to be _fine_. 

He repeats this mantra in his head as they approach the doors, squeezing into the crowded space and beholding the party proper. 

The lights are low inside the shop, but colored lights shine through several parts of the room to give the place a club effect. The music is loud, but not ear-offendingly so, and people are milling about in a fairly calm way. Not quite yet the body-pressing, eardrum-bleeding party that he expected; that calms him somewhat. He looks around the crowd for a single familiar face, him and his forest-dwelling friend slowly making their way into the heart of the crowd. He’d like to see the twins and give them their presents--two sets of metal-lined wooden ink cups, expertly carved with a variety of designs he thought would fit the two’s personalities--but mostly he just wants to know where the hell Argo is. 

Fitzroy came home that day to a note on the table, informing him and the Firbolg that Argo had gone over to the twins earlier to help them set up and that he’d see them there. Now, as Fitzroy bumps into stranger after stranger, he wonders if the genasi is here at all. 

“Hey, Roy! There you are!” And then, he hears him. Fitzroy smiles, turning in search of the voice, and...well. 

He finds Argo alright. 

Argonaut Keene has never been a man of extravagant looks. He dresses rather simply for Fitzroy’s tastes, but it suits him quite well! He has his flowy shirts, his fitted pants, and his boots--those _work_ for Argo, and Fitzroy can’t deny that the man looks quite handsome in it.

 _This_ Argo is not one Fitzroy has ever seen in his life, and he feels very _seen_ seeing him. 

Black, high-heeled cowboy boots start the outfit off--running up the expanse of Argo’s calves and stopping at the knee, embroidered with a rose on the front and lines of red around the border. Following that is a pair of faux leather pants; dark maroon and accentuating all of Argo’s...features with an alluring shine, a black belt with a rose buckle topping off the bottom half. The top half is where things get...risque. A fishnet shirt reveals expanses of the genasi’s skin Fitzroy isn’t accustomed to seeing, including his nipples--where two silver roses seem to come out of the bud. Atop it all, he wears a short-sleeved collared shirt with the buttons fully undone, the bottom of the shirt being black while the top half is designed with dark red roses. His face--smiling unassumingly, as if he doesn’t realize what he’s done--is painted with gorgeous colors. Blue and silver glitter paints the top of his lids, blending out into a darker color that smokes a bit onto the lower lashline. A line of black eyeliner wings out on both eyes, highlighted with a smaller line of silver atop it. A purple-blue iridescent highlight defines the tops of his cheekbones, making his whole face glow with an ethereal effect. His blue-silver septum ring has been replaced with a black one. His lips, stretched in that smile Fitzroy knows so well, are glossy. Almost inviting someone to come close enough to steal them in a kiss. 

“Roy…?” Argo asks, waving a hand (a painted hand--nails done in a red, black, and silver pattern across both sets) in front of Fitzroy’s face. “You okay there, buddy?” Fitzroy gapes for a moment longer before suddenly coming to, shaking his head a little too violently as Argo inwardly drinks in the reaction. 

Oh yeah, he’s got him. 

“Y-Yeah, I--Happy birthday, you two!” Fitzroy thrusts the two wrapped gifts to the twins standing behind Argo, both of them smiling knowingly as they take the packages. “A-Aaron you--Nice. You, uh, your look is um--I like it. It, uh...suits you? It’s very nice, I mean to say, and that--Yeah. Yes. That is what I meant to say.” The twins snicker to themselves while Argo smiles, preening himself on every word. 

“Why, thank you! Y’know, I was just helping out around here and Nik asked if they could doll me up for the occasion. And, who am I to deny the birthday bitch?” He turns to Nikolai and they give a thumbs up in return. Fitzroy almost questions the title, but he spots the sash around them that proudly states “BIRTHDAY BITCH” and decides against questioning it. “You look... _really_ good, Roy.” Argo isn’t able to restrain the attraction from lacing his voice, but he just hopes the music muffles his words somewhat. 

Because Fitzroy _does_ look good-- _always_ looks good, but _especially_ when he cleans up in this more rugged aesthetic. He’s wearing a pair of his brown cowboy boots, and his freshly-pressed and ironed blue jeans are tucked neatly inside. His jeans are hand-embroidered with a lightning pattern around the pockets, down the sides, and (if Argo remembers correctly) on his back pockets. He wears a simple white dress shirt, but the first few buttons are undone--revealing an expanse of hair that has Argo feeling a lot more hot in the face. The sleeves are long and properly worn--a homage to the class he maintained for years before this--and he has a simple gold chain around his neck. His makeup accentuates all his best features and his hair is well-kept; tied in a low ponytail to reveal the fresh buzz he’s given his undercut. A sharp contrast to the tousled-but-sexy look Argo’s styled his hair into. 

“Thank you…” Fitzroy mutters, slightly flushed. “Um, so what do we...do? I’m assuming this is a kind of ‘drink and dance’ party, right?” 

“Right-o-rooskie!” Nikolai cheers, handing their gift off to their brother to step forward and sling an arm around Fitzroy and the Firbolg’s shoulders. “Argo can give ya a more proper tour of the premises, but just know that bathrooms are indicated with signs, there’s a balcony and a backyard if you brought anything to smoke or just need a breather, and there’s alcohol juuust about everywhere! Now,” they shove the two towards Argo, pushing Fitzroy a little more forcefully so he stumbles into Argo’s arms, “have fun y’all!” 

And then, they run off, leaving the Thundermen in an interesting predicament. Argo and Fitzroy awkwardly laugh out of their strange embrace, the Firbolg watching this all with a small smirk. Whatever has been planned by those twins, the Firbolg sees potential in it benefiting him as well. So, without a word, he steps away from the pair as they remain locked in an awkward tangle of limbs and decides to find somewhere to mingle for the night. 

By the time Fitzroy and Argo have fumbled through that situation, the large man is long gone. 

“How the _hell_ do ya lose a firbolg that quickly?” Argo mutters, looking around the crowd to try and spot him. Fitzroy shrugs. 

“He seemed pretty fine with hanging by himself; I’m assuming if he needs us, he’ll find us.” He replies simply. Argo looks at Fitzroy and smiles, and then...silence. 

Uh...Okay. 

“So, alcohol? Can we find some?” Fitzroy asks, hoping to rid himself of whatever strange feelings he has with a few shots of booze. Argo settles into his party persona and smirks, swiftly taking Fitzroy by the hand. 

“Allow me~” Argo says, leading Fitzroy into the night. 

\---

The party very quickly turns into exactly what Fitzroy was expecting, but he’s not as overwhelmed as he thought he’d be by the time it gets to that point. Probably because, by then, he’s several shots in and making quick work of whatever beer he can get his hands on. He learns that the party takes place on both floors; the top floor being more of a chill hang space, with lots of furniture for people to sit and chat, while the downstairs is more of the party zone. Argo keeps Fitzroy mostly downstairs, though they do go upstairs occasionally to find more alcohol for shots and drinking games. The boom of the bass loses its intensity as Fitzroy becomes accustomed to it, his eyes adjust to the lights and he navigates the space with relative ease. For once, out of the many parties he’s attended, Fitzroy is _actually_ having fun. 

This might be thanks to a certain genasi practically hanging off his arm all night, passing out compliments to him as easily as he passes out drinks. The rogue has been a welcome presence the entire night; he helps Fitzroy acquaint himself with strangers and is an excellent source of conversation when the two of them end up somewhere. 

At some point, Fitzroy gets roped into a few drinking games, which is where Argo slowly starts to go from loose to incredibly drunk. Fitzroy is quite the competitive person, which makes drinking games all the more fun to him. After schooling another duo in a game of pong, he decides to gather those around him to play a game he learned back home. 

“It’s called, ‘Ride the Carriage’!” Fitzroy announces to the crowd. “Who wants to try it out? If yer not blacked out by now, this game will get you there!” People perk up at this, gathering around Fitzroy as he hopes over the counter (usually for the two employees to sit waiting for customers, now a makeshift bar) and snatches the deck of cards he spotted twenty minutes ago. He teaches the crowd the game as he shuffles, Argo watching with a sort of bewitched expression that has Fitzroy feeling hot all over. They play a few rounds of Ride the Carriage, Argo having to “ride the carriage” a few times, unfortunately. 

This is really where Argo goes from drunk to just about blacked out, but he refuses to stop. He leans over the counter, watching Fitzroy shuffle with a dopey smile on his face. 

“Alright, anyone still wanna ride?” Fitzroy asks, watching the crowd of assembled intoxicated people for any takers. Argo raises his hand at an angle, using his other hand to prop his head up. 

“Choo choo,” Argo slurs, Fitzroy looking at him and laughing to himself. 

“Yes, Aaron, the carriage goes ‘choo choo’,” Fitzroy replies, putting the genasi’s arm down for him, “Also you’re not playing anymore rounds until you get some water and sober up.” 

“Awwwwwwww yer no f _un_ ,” Argo mopes, resting his head against the counter and staring up at Fitzroy with puppy dog eyes. Fitzroy looks at him and is unable to stop the sudden flutter in his stomach, constricting his throat with that _something_ he hasn’t felt in quite a bit. Still, he holds his ground and ignores the rogue’s pleas, hosting a few more rounds until the music suddenly shifts to something slow and bassy. The switch-up has Argo up in a second, suddenly looking a lot more steady than he just was as he reaches over the counter to grab Fitzroy by the arm. 

“Come dance w’th me!” He calls out, already pulling Fitzroy so the man has no choice but to follow. The two make their way to the middle of the dance floor, and it is there that Fitzroy realizes everyone here is dancing...well, dancing is not the right word for it. 

Completely-clothed sex is a more fitting term, and it makes Fitzroy’s face burn as he finds he’s in the middle of it. 

“U-Uh, A-Aaron?” Fitzroy says, trying to avoid looking at anyone for too long. “I-I don’t think this is the kind of song we should be dancing to.” Argo, for his part, looks completely comfortable. He grabs both of Fitzroy’s hands, staring up at him alluringly. 

“Hey, relax,” He says just loud enough for Fitzroy to hear, his voice settling in this rich tone that the half-elf isn’t used to. “If y’wanna move, we can move. But, just have some fun, okay?” He seems completely willing to respect Fitzroy’s boundaries, and that comforts him. With the alcohol burning through this body, he decides to let it all go and gives Argo a confident smile. Argo’s eyes light up and he flashes Fitzroy a sharp-toothed grin before pulling the man closer, settling Fitzroy’s hands on his hips as he lets go and begins to dance. 

Argo’s hips sway and roll in enchanting patterns, arms moving along to the music and head turned either upwards or directly at Fitzroy. Fitzroy has trouble finding a rhythm, mostly rolling his body in time to Argo’s movements, and he can no longer ignore the heat that’s been festering between them the entire night. 

Argo is an attractive man, that much Fitzroy has known for a very long time. He’s a charming man as well; evidenced by the position he currently finds himself in. But is...is _this_ what Fitzroy has been feeling the entire time? Just unabashed, unfiltered attraction? It certainly seems possible. He can’t deny that the man pressing his body as close to Fitzroy’s right now is someone he could see himself quickly pushing into a nearby closet. Something about this moment just doesn’t feel...right. 

For not the first time in Fitzroy’s life, he considers the philosophical question of whether hooking up is the right thing to do. 

On one hand, it would be fun as hell and Argo is very hot. On the other, Argo is one of his closest friends, and if anything strange were to form because of that, then he would never forgive himself for letting it happen. Plus, there’s the added layer of Argo knowing practically everything about him, which does worry him. If Argo suddenly decided he wanted more than what Fitzroy was willing to give, he could be a very dangerous adversary. 

B-But Argo isn’t like that! He would never...He promised to keep the information to himself. And Fitzroy wants to trust him! He--He _does_ trust him! 

At least...at least he thinks. 

Fitzroy thinks back on the past few weeks, considering anything that could be considered a red flag for a situation like this. For the most part, he comes up empty, except for one thing: Argo avoids Fitzroy _a lot_ . Like, enough for Fitzroy to think he’s done something _wrong_. It was fine in the beginning; and, as Argo explained, he was only trying to give Fitzroy space to be angry. But this past week...Argo’s demeanor almost completely changed whenever he was around. He purposely kept his distance from Fitzroy, he almost never spoke to him, and whenever they did seem to cross paths he looked almost...sad? Why? 

Fitzroy remembers what Higglemas said during their argument; how he sacrificed a lot by protecting the one he cares for, and how that him running away was the only thing to keep Hieronymous safe. 

Argo bought a trench coat recently. A long, black trenchcoat--perfect for disguising oneself in a crowd of people. 

Suddenly, Fitzroy needs some air.

“E-Excuse me,” Fitzroy blurts out, pushing Argo away from him. “I-I’ll be right back, I just--I need some air.” He runs off before Argo can say anything in response, sure to mask his walk like it isn’t a desperate dash to somewhere quiet. 

Argo should have followed him. But he’s far more intoxicated than what the plan called for, and so he thinks nothing of it and goes off in search of his other friends. 

\---

Fitzroy finds his way outside and immediately sees a familiar mop of blonde curls leaning against the railing of the back porch. Fitzroy smiles, relieved to see his friend, and walks towards Wyatt. He stands beside the smaller man without a word, Wyatt startling when he registers his coworker’s presence. 

“O-Oh! Roy!” He says, surprised. “I-I didn’t see you there!” 

“That’s because I just got here,” Fitzroy replies with a laugh, taking in the sight of his friend. Wyatt is dressed casually in a flannel and jeans, sturdy boots poking out from the bottom of his jeans. He has a bottle of vodka clutched in his left hand, which surprises Fitzroy. “You drink vodka?” Wyatt looks at the bottle, just as surprised as Fitzroy, and laughs nervously. 

“N-No, I actually hate this stuff! But it’s, uh, it’s the first bottle I saw before I booked it out here…” Wyatt admits. Fitzroy chuckles good-naturedly, Wyatt joining in after a moment to laugh at his own antics. 

“Well, y’mind handin’ me that thing? I think I need somethin’ strong right now,” Fitzroy asks, Wyatt handing the bottle over without a word. Fitzroy screws off the top and takes a quick swig, delighting in the burn but recoiling at the taste. “Eugh, this is cheap shit, I can tell.” 

“Y-Yeah, you can usually tell if you can taste it…” Wyatt replies, laughing to himself still. “So, uh...what brings you out in the open air? Needed a breather?” Fitzroy shakes his head, doing his best to keep his thoughts at bay, and gives him a tired smile. 

“You can say that,” is all Fitzroy says in response. He then nods towards Wyatt inquisitively. “What about you? What brings you outdoors?” 

“Oh, I’m not a huge party person, is all,” Wyatt responds with a nervous smile. “I had a bit of fun, but as soon as things got wild I decided to dip for a while. It’s not a bad night to sit out here and drink, y’know! Thought I’d just take advantage of it for the time being.” 

“I feel ya there, this party is a _bit_ insane.” Fitzroy laughs. Wyatt looks at him with an unbelieving look. 

“Yer tellin’ me this party ain’t your thing? You were going nuts in there! Don’t think I didn’t see you killing it at the pong table,” Wyatt teases. Fitzroy rolls his eyes, but offers the smaller man the bottle back. Wyatt accepts it, taking a shot’s worth into his mouth and scrunching up at the taste. “ _Ohhhh_ yeah, this shit _sucks_.” 

“Yep! Absolute ass,” Fitzroy states matter-of-factly, to which Wyatt snorts. “As for my performance in there; it’s not that I _hate_ big parties like this, it just ain’t really my style. I’d much rather a small gathering of friends where everyone can get as thoroughly drunk as they want without worrying about hooking up with a rando from two towns over.” He takes the bottle back from Wyatt and drinks again. “Besides, I had enough of this crap in my frat days.” At that, Wyatt stares incredulously. 

“You were in a _fraternity_?” 

“Yeah! In my last school, at least,” Fitzroy replies, the words seeming to just flow out of him. “The guys in there all _hated_ me, though, which is why the parties sucked. But you _had_ to rush if you wanted any friends, so I did it regardless. Got a _lot_ of shots fed to me through baby-medicine syringes, I’ll tell ya that much…” Fitzroy doesn’t look fondly on his frat days; for the most part, it was an excuse to get drunk enough to forget everyone hated him, including himself. “Now, I’m a lot simpler of a partier. Just get me a nice drink and some good people and I’m _cool_.” Wyatt nods along, laughing to himself again at the last part. 

“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, “But, like, about the frat stuff; was it, like...what did you _do_ there? Was it like--super dudebro-y, where if you, like, so much as touched another man they called you a slur? O-Or was it more relaxed than that?” Fitzroy thinks briefly on this question, the bottle passing between them two more times before Fitzroy has an answer. 

“I mean, any guy who _was_ gay wasn’t sayin’ much about it, if that’s what you’re wondering. I had my fair share of drunk men approach me with...sexual intentions, which I politely declined. Then they would sober up and make me _swear_ I wouldn’t tell a soul, and I’d agree.” Fitzroy explains with a neutral expression. “Kissing those kinda men is fun because they’re _really_ into it, but anything beyond that just wouldn’t be good because they’re so damn cagey about themselves.” Wyatt perks up, looking at Fitzroy, his cheeks dusted with rosiness. 

“B-But, you were...into that?” Wyatt asks innocently, “Kissing guys? That was...that was cool with you?” Fitzroy eyeballs the human for a moment, watching sweat form on his forehead. 

“Wyatt, if you’re trying to ask me if I’m _gay_ , then my answer is: have you fucking _met_ me?” He gestures to himself with a smirk, then (for emphasis) lets his hand droop in that quintessential signal. Wyatt snorts and does it in response, the two of them then sharing in a laugh as Wyatt’s nerves settle just a bit. After the laughter subsides, Fitzroy teasingly shoves his friend and asks, “Was this your totally subtle way of trying to make a move on me, or were you just curious?” Wyatt freezes completely, face going beet red, mouth gaping like a fish as he tries to formulate a response. 

“W-Well, I--I wouldn’t say I was _trying_ to, um m-make--y’know I was just. Um. I just wanted to s-see because--you’re very cool, and I just--um! I...I-I wasn’t trying to make you feel _weird_ , if that’s what yo--You didn’t ask that, did you. Oh, fuck, I just made this _so_ weird, haven’t I? Shit--I’m sorry, uh--f-forget I ever said anything!” He slaps a hand over his mouth before he can make anymore blunders, and Fitzroy has to laugh. Given the night he’s had already, this is by far the _least_ surprising thing to come out of it. 

“I know you’ve had a crush on me for a while, bud. Y’don’t have to try and deny it.” Fitzroy explains calmly, leaning against the railing and watching Wyatt’s face get increasingly redder. “Hey, there’s nothin’ to be ashamed of! I think it’s sweet--maybe I was a bit annoyed at it, at first--but now I know you’re just a chill guy! I’m just not interested though; I-I hope you’ve picked up that vibe.” Wyatt nods his head, slowly letting himself calm down as he comes to an understanding. 

“I mean--yeah, yeah I always knew you weren’t gonna be with it,” Wyatt admits with a nervous laugh. He still seems conflicted about something, so Fitzroy offers him the bottle for strength. Wyatt takes it with a thankful smile and takes several shots worth of vodka in one go. He coughs hard afterwards, but with his belly sufficiently aflame he finds the words better. “I was just wondering--or perhaps _hoping_ \--you’d just let me...kiss you? I-I know that sounds _weird_ , and you can _totally_ say no if you feel uncomfortable, but I just. Wanna know? If I’ve actually been interested this whole time, or has the _fantasy_ of being with you been _really_ what I’ve been after.” Fitzroy considers the proposition for only a moment; he’s drunk, he’s made his intentions completely clear, and this is a party. There’s really no reason for him _not_ to just do it. At least to give the guy some closure. 

“Alright,” Fitzroy agrees, much to Wyatt’s shock. “You said it yourself; it’s just to know, right? I don’t mind helpin’ ya out.” Wyatt looks up at Fitzroy, face seemingly stuck in a permanent state of flushed, and Fitzroy smiles down at him. 

“O-Okay,” Wyatt grabs the side of Fitzroy’s face softly, like he’s cupping a small injured animal. Then, he leans in, meeting Fitzroy half-way. 

The kiss is...alright, on Fitzroy’s end. Not sloppy but not stiff; a remarkably average kiss from a remarkably average man. They part after a few moments and Fitzroy immediately goes back to looking out on the desert, giving Wyatt the space he needs to process it. He stands there, finger pressed to his lips, for a minute or so. 

“Oh,” Wyatt says once, looking as if he’s woken up from a deep sleep or been broken out of a curse. “ _Oh_ . Okay! Um, so that was _nothing_ , right--” 

“--Severely nothing. Intensely nothing. Like--” 

“--Like the plainest kiss ever? Yeah, like that was _nothing_ nothing. Just. Wow...Wow that was incredibly average.” Bubbles of laughter begin to pop out of Wyatt, and before long the man is doubled over in the most raucous laughter Fitzroy has ever heard out of the man. He finds himself laughing as well, and the two erupt into fits of laughter for the next few minutes. The moment with Argo inside falls to the wayside as he takes in the joy of being drunk and happy, nearly falling over himself as laughter wracks his whole body. Wyatt is one the deck, now, clutching his stomach as he tries not to throw up from how hard his body shakes in merriment. All of that pining, all of that hoping, and for what? For the literal _most average_ kiss to prove he was never really interested in Fitzroy; just that he _wanted_ a hot man to fall for him. A few minutes come and go before the two are able to quiet themselves, each looking at each other with shaky smiles and teary eyes. 

“Th-Thanks for that, Roy,” Wyatt says, voice hoarse. “That just made so many things make sense, and I--thanks for withstanding that moment for me.” Fitzroy rolls his eyes and slaps his friends on the back heartily. 

“Hey, it was a solid 5/10. Not too bad, but nothing to write home about. But yer welcome. Like I said, this kinda shit doesn’t really bother me, especially when I know I ain’t interested.” Fitzroy smiles mischievously. “But, hey, now that you’re done eyeing me up; how about you go in there and chat up the guy that’s _actually_ interested in you?” At that, Wyatt pauses, looking curious. Fitzroy’s face deadpans. “Are you serious? C’mon, even _I_ can tell Zephyr is crazy for you, and I met that man _twice_ \--one of those times being today!” 

“Z-Zephyr? N-No, I--That’s not it.” Wyatt replies, scratching the back of his neck bashfully. “He’s--I mean, I used to have a super big crush on him for, like. Months. But he never said anything! So I assumed it was just--lost cause, y’know? There’s no way that...he doesn’t…” He looks at Fitzroy for a moment, realization slowly coming to him. “O-Oh…” 

“Yeah, _oh_.” Fitzroy snorts. “Listen, I’m not saying go in there and kiss him on the mouth, but if you wanted me to grab him and bring him out here so you guys can talk, I’d be happy to do that for ya.” Wyatt thinks it over for only a second before nodding. A wide grin splits across Fitzroy’s face as he gets to his feet again. “Alright, you sit tight, and I’ll bring your knight in gothic armor out to ya.” And with that, Fitzroy takes the plunge back into the party. 

Just as something goes horribly wrong. 

\---

Argo’s spent the last half hour drifting through the party, head floaty and body light as he mingles with people and absentmindedly knocks back drinks. 

He’s never been quite _this_ level of a partier--especially given his low tolerance--but knowing what he was after tonight had him needing quite a bit more liquid courage than expected. Then Nikolai offered their dab pen when Argo said the alcohol wasn’t working, and _that_ got him thoroughly crossed. He’s not blacked out--that much he’s certain--but he loses gaps of time now and then. 

Like, one moment he was grinding up against the love of his life. 

And the next, he’s watching the love of his life kiss another man on the back porch. 

Wait. Hold up. 

“ _Oh_ \--” Argo feels his high crumble, sending his floaty mood crashing into the floor as he watches the moment like it was frozen in time. Wyatt and Fitzroy are standing close together, Wyatt’s hand on Fitzroy’s cheek as they kiss. Suddenly, Argo feels all that liquid courage land like an anchor at the bottom of his stomach, and he turns on his heel and dashes for the nearest bathroom. 

He makes it just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, and when he’s done he feels empty in more ways than one. His heart is beyond broken--it’s _obliterated_ , floating around his ribcage in little shards as tears begin to spring forth in his eyes. 

He should’ve known all along. Should’ve trusted his intuition, should’ve trusted his heart. Fitzroy was never his to begin with; there was no way he could have won him over tonight or any other night. Fitzroy belonged to another--to the kindly blonde guy with the soft cheeks and the bright eyes. He’d never want to be with someone like _him_ ; someone so bold, someone so loud, someone so raggedy. He may have grown up poor, but Fitzroy is a prince at heart. And Argo? Just a pauper. Never meant to grace him with his lowliness and grime. 

He leans over the toilet, glitter tears dropping onto the toilet seat as he feels the brunt of his broken heart. 

He hears some commotion outside of his door before someone opens it. 

“Aaron? You okay buddy--” Nikolai stops when they hear Argo sniffling, suddenly going into mother hen mode as they kneel next to Argo and rub his back. “What happened?” 

“F--Roy, he--Wyatt and him. I-I--” He looks behind him and sees Zephyr in the doorway, and something happens in the look he gives him that makes the tiefling understand everything. His face falls, then it hardens, and he storms away. Nikolai looks behind them and sees their brother walk off, suddenly caught between two situations. 

“Z-Zeph, wait--!” They stand up, grabbing Argo by the arm and dragging him with them as they go to find their brother. 

Turns out, they won’t need to look far, because Fitzroy and Zephyr are standing in the middle of circle, Fitzroy sporting a bloody nose and a shocked expression. 

\---

“What the fuck!?” Fitzroy cries out, touching his hand to his nose and seeing the blood as he recovers from Zephyr punching him directly in the face. The tiefling seems enraged by something--and, given the redness of his eyes--he’s definitely too intoxicated to talk it out like men. “What the fuck did I do to you, man!?” 

“What did you do to _me_ ?! Oh, let’s not worry about what you’ve done to _me_ , right now. We can get to that in _just_ a second!” Zephyr shouts back, “What matters here is what you’ve done to my _friend_ . _My_ . Friend. Because you’ve been a fucking _shit_ one this entire time to him, and I’m not gonna stand around and have him be miserable because of you any fucking longer!!” He comes close and shoves Fitzroy, sending the half-elf toppling to the ground. “Where the fuck do you get _off_ , huh!? Dragging some poor guy around by the fucking _neck_ \--making him believe and not believe that you actually give a _shit_ about him--just to go behind his back and have a relationship anyway!? Do you think that’s fucking cool!? Do you think that it’s fucking _funny_ to know someone loves you and you couldn’t even give less of a shit!? Who do you even think you _are_ to deserve the attention of two great guys!?” Fitzroy is confused by this, but he slowly starts to put the pieces together as he looks behind the fuming tiefling. 

Argo is staring at him, and he’s crying. 

Suddenly, everything makes sense. 

The avoidance, the sudden friendship, the even _more_ sudden interest, all leading up to this. 

Humiliation. 

“Egotistical pricks like you fucking _digust_ me,” Zephyr continues, ignoring the calm numbness that passes over Fitzroy’s features. “I don’t even know why you’re still _here_ ! Newsflash, fuckhead: NOBODY LIKES YOU. Just get the hell out and never fucking talk to my friends again, okay!? That is the absolute _least_ you could do for Aaron.” The whole room has gone silent, all eyes on Fitzroy. He can feel their stares like knives in his back, and suddenly he understands why the only stab to hurt Lord Julius Caesar was the one his best friend delivered. 

Argo stares and says nothing, and that hurts most of all.

Without a word, Fitzroy stands up and strides past Zephyr, making eye contact with no one as the crowd parts for his exit. He hears sudden motion behind him, but doesn’t stop. 

“R-Roy, wait! Wait up, I--” Argo’s voice cuts through the air and Fitzroy tries to hold in his anger. He walks out into the cool night air and stands for a moment, breathing, until he hears the door open and shut behind him. “R-Roy, listen I don’t know why he just did that, I didn’t even--” 

“ _Don’t_ .” Fitzroy’s voice is low, but Argo hears it loud and clear. “You know, you almost got me, Argo. I have to applaud you on your performance this whole time. You...really made it seem like you _cared_ about me.” Argo takes a step in the dirt and Fitzroy whips around, eyes nearly blinding in the white-hot rage. “ **Don’t come near me** ...I-I don’t know what I expected from you, to be honest. Maybe more than this? But if there’s _one_ thing I’ve learned in all my years of living, it’s that _no one_ can be trusted--not even those you consider your friends.” 

“F--Roy, listen to me, _please_. It’s not what it looks like, I didn’t--” 

“-- _Then what is it supposed to look like_ , _then_ !? Th-That you _didn’t_ mean to earn my trust just as quickly as you planned on leaving me behind, before realizing you’d rather stay here so you set up this whole plan to have the whole town think I’m a scumbag?! Is that _not_ what I’m supposed to be seeing!?!” Argo gapes at him, unresponsive. Fitzroy tuts. “Fine. If it really _wasn’t_ supposed to be like this--and I’m willing to entertain that--then just explain this to me: why have you been avoiding me recently? Last week, and the week prior, you’re practically never around when I am. Why is that? And _don’t_ just say it’s because you wanted to ‘give me space’. If you wanted that, then explain why you would look at me all sad and shit, a-and that fucking trench coat you bought. What is all of that supposed to mean, Argo? Explain it to me now.” Fitzroy waits a moment, staring at Argo’s blank expression as a rage storms within him. 

“Come on, Keene! Time’s ticking! One of your dipshit friends is about to come out here and accuse me of hitting you speechless or something! _You_ were the one who said you were going to be honest and not hide anything from me! So say it!! Explain yourself!!” Somewhere deep inside the barbarian, he prays that Argo does say something. _Anything_ that can explain this gut-wrenching pain all away. 

But, as they stand there, Fitzroy realizes there’s nothing Argo _can_ say to change Fitzroy’s conclusion. 

So he turns around and does the thing he damned another man for days before. 

He walks away. 

\---

Early Saturday morning light shines through the window of Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s office, where Grey the Demon Prince is stuck flipping through paperwork. The morning is quiet and still as the demon does his work, grumbling to himself as he curses the existence of every creature on Nua. 

And then, there is a sound that pierces the silence. A gentle tap on the window. 

Grey turns his head at the voice and sees a large crow perched on his windowsill, waiting expectantly. Without a moment's hesitation, Grey opens the window and allows the crow to perch on his shoulder. The powerful bird gently rests its forehead against Grey’s cheek, and suddenly Grey can see it. 

His prize. Fitzroy Maplecourt, cautiously holding his hand out to the bird. 

Then, a location. A bird’s-eye view of a town as well as a closer shot of one of the larger buildings, proudly announcing itself as the City Hall of Dust Field.

The bird moves its head and stares up at its master, waiting. A smile grows on Grey’s face as he pats the bird on its head. 

“Thank you, imp. That will be all,” he says, sending the bird away with a poof of magic. Alone in his office, Grey delights in the early morning sun shining on his disguised face. 

“Finally,” Grey breathes out, smoke trailing with his words. “ _Finally_ I can have some fun.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see a change in perspective, as the other players of this performance share their sides of the story. 
> 
> A letter is delivered and received. 
> 
> Three weeks pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well howwwwwdy folks!!!! it's me, your delirious and redbull-ridden writer!! this time, i'm back a little earlier than usual with a SUPER cool chapter that i hope everyone enjoys!!! i decided to take a break from the typical thundermen perspective for this chapter, since it is following a very intense chapter 7 and prefacing a very EXCITING chapter 9. 
> 
> also, for those who notice, yes there is FINALLY an end in sight!! yesterday, while i was writing the first two scenes of This chapter, i had an epiphany about the rest of the fic. so i outlined the rest, and now i can present to you all a rough idea of how many chapters are left!! i am both sad and incredibly excited to say that we are Very Close!!!! but!!!! we still have time for lots of fun :-) 
> 
> speaking of fun!!! fanart shoutouts!!!! tag me on tumblr @fitzroythecreator if you make epic art that you want me to shout out!!!
> 
> starting off, i don't know if they have it done yet, but go give [@vanitedraws](https://vanitedraws.tumblr.com/) a follow to see their cool art of chapter 7 that they published a sneak preview of yesterday (and it made me SCREAM in the voicecall bc i am insane)!!! love u van u are epic mwah
> 
> matthew (@accesscodex) is back at it again with the chap 7 drawings of [this very soft scene](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/638541071544172544/once-again-telling-you-to-read-ssoss), [this heartbreaking scene](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/638299949455622144/go-and-read-the-latest-chapter-of-ssoss-or-ill), and [a full reference of argo in his slutty little outfit](https://accesscodex.tumblr.com/post/638321329551081472/actually-im-posting-him-anyway-love-this-whore) <3
> 
> that's about all i have to say for now!!! enjoy the chapter!!!!

A few hours later, in the solid stream of morning, the campus bustles to life as it does any other Saturday. Students mill about, grateful for the weekend’s reprieve but still anxious from their prolonged captivity on school grounds. Professors--also locked in by the Heroic Oversight Guild--take the day to rest in whatever ways they wish; some more party-acclimated throw large ragers in their empty classrooms, while others lay out in the wide open fields to read and nap under the warming sun. The only recent addition made to this peaceful scene is the occasional H.O.G. employee, pulling students aside for questioning and sharing facts amongst each other about the open case on the school. 

And then, of course, there’s the newest addition; the solitary clack of heels against linoleum tiles, an impressive stride of red-velvet-clad legs, a well-manicured fist clenched, and a proud head held high. She brushes past students, staff, and investigators on a mission. She ignores the stares and hushed whispers. She no longer cares about appearances or rumors. 

She makes her way to the administration office and barely acknowledges the halfling manning the front desk, a tired older woman with a nest of grey hair atop her head. The halfling double-takes from the woman to her destination and reaches a hand out, intending to stop this speeding train of a person. 

“W-Wait--!” The halfling calls out, “Mister Hieronymous isn’t expecting any visitors, Mrs.--” 

“I’ll only be a minute, thank you,” the woman sternly replies, opening the door to the headmaster’s room without so much as a courtesy knock. It gives the man in question only a second to make sure he’s not in demon form before facing the woman, ready to give her a proper chewing-out about manners and respect. Until he gets a good look at who has so rudely barged in and quickly changes tactics.

“Ah, Mrs. Maplecourt.” The demon-in-disguise says calmly, replacing his look of anger with a disgustingly casual smile. “I wasn’t expecting you to come by! I do hope the H.O.G. investigators did not give you any trouble when you were driving into campus.” 

“I made it _very_ clear why I was here, and I found they were _glad_ to let me through the barriers.” Deardra Maplecourt replies, her voice only thinly masking her true feelings in regards to the man in front of her. “And it’s _Miss_ Maplecourt to you, Hieronymous Wiggenstaff.” She stares down the elf across from her, arms crossed and stature proper so as to show her impressive scorn. Grey brushes off her pointed stare and gestures to the plush chair in front of her with a smile. 

“I do apologize for the mistake, _Miss_ Maplecourt, but my records had shown you were a married woma--” 

“--Well, if I were still married then you would see my husband here with me, wouldn’t you?” Deardra cuts back in faux-politeness, taking the seat before Grey could offer it verbally. Grey closes his eyes for a moment, steeling himself before his temper gets the better of him, and allows the woman to state her piece. Which he is almost certain has to do with-- “ _Where_. Is he Hieronymous.” 

“I...don’t know what you mean--” He is startled by the sudden movement as Deardra slams her hand down on the desk in front of her. 

“My _son_ , Hieronymous. Where is my _son_ .” She says again, tone dripping with ice and iron. It would almost be enough to make Grey _fear_ the impressive elf in front of him, if not for the fact that the question nearly makes him burst into delightful laughter. Still, he collects himself, playing the part of a mournful headmaster quite well. 

“W-Well, Miss Maplecourt, I am...sorry to say, but--I am sure you’ve heard the news that your son has passed, correct?” Deardra tenses at the mention of her son’s “death”, but she seems to shoulder through it and keep her fire. Grey notes this and stows it away for later. 

“ _Yes_ , I’m well aware of my son’s fate--no thanks to you and your faculty, might I add--but that isn’t what I’m asking.” Deardra taps her finger against the desk, levelling the headmaster with an icy stare once more. “His _remains_ . Where are his _remains_.” 

Ah, right. 

_This_ thing again. 

Grey sighs (in an attempt to prevent another chuckle from leaving his windpipe) and pulls open a drawer, surveying the near _one hundred letters_ Mrs. Maplecourt has written in the two-month period since Fitzroy’s last sighting. All of them he’s skimmed through and completely forgotten about, instructing his secretary to write some placating reply that stalls the inquiries while Grey focuses on finding the boy himself. In truth, most of what Fitzroy left behind is barely considered “remains” in the first place; but Grey has still held onto them to give his imps something to track. 

Not that he’ll need that now. 

But still, the more Grey has in _his_ pocket, the better. So he decides to play with _Miss_ Maplecourt for just a little while longer. 

“Miss Maplecourt--can I call you Deardra?” Grey starts. Deadra continues to stare back, expression unmoving. “...Just Miss Maplecourt, then. W-Well, I hate to break it to you, but as I’ve had my secretary write back to you _time_ and _time_ again, we cannot--” At that, Deardra stands once more, and it is clear to the demon prince where the brat gets his stubborn streak and blatant disrespect for authority. 

“I’m _aware_ of what replies your secretary has written back to me. And, if I may be frank, I think they’re absolute _bullshit_ .” Deardra spits, leaning over the desk and invading Grey’s space. Grey leans back, noting a nervous bead of sweat collecting on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if you have children, Hieronymous, nor do I care. But if you can _recall_ \--being an elf yourself--elvish burial traditions _require_ some matter of remains in order to completely lay the soul to rest. And I am about _sick_ and _tired_ of being denied my peace.” She reaches towards her chest and pulls a locket out of the opening in her jumpsuit. The heart-shaped locket dangles in front of Grey’s face for a moment-- _reeking_ of the changeling’s scent--before she clicks it open and reveals a small strand of hair pressed behind one side of the glass. A picture of a younger Deardra holding her son is on the other side--Fitzroy looking no more than five or six. 

“You are already lucky I have not raised _hell_ in this campus for not being notified the _second_ you confirmed his passing.” Deardra continues, closing the locket and tucking it back in place. “The fact that it took not a _letter_ , nor a _summons_ , nor even a fucking _messenger_ for me to get the news--but a fucking _article in the local newspaper_ is absolutely **_abhorred_ ** behavior on your part.” She leans back but continues to stand. “That is my _son_ , Hieronymous. _My_ . _Son_ . And I have been grieving in _misery_ \--unable to bring him or myself peace--because your staff has been so frustratingly _ignorant_ to my wishes. Well, I am not wishing anymore! I _demand_ to have F-Fit--my _son’s_ remains returned to me right this fucking instant!” Grey waits a moment, letting this once-refined woman bask in the glory of her own outburst, before responding. 

“How about I do this for you,” he says as he pulls open one of the random drawers in his desk. He retrieves from it a key. “This is a key to one of the rooms in the Faculty Residence Hall. I am going to extend a warm and _gracious_ invitation for you to stay here, on campus, where you can visit me _every single day_ until I get the proper approvals from the Heroic Oversight Investigators to return _your son’s_ remains to you.” He lays the key out on the desk and slides it towards her. She eyes it cautiously. “If you are asking me to magically...make your son’s remains appear in my hand right now! Then I am afraid to tell you that that is not possible, nor would I willingly risk my position as headmaster to do that. Your problem lies with the H.O.G., _not_ with me. Though I have been trying to reach out to them on your behalf, they have kept his remains as evidence for the investigation and have refused my inquiries as to when they could be returned. But! I’ve been told that the investigation is...nearly over! No longer than a week, I’ve heard.” He lets go of the key, folding his hands in his lap and smiling an almost-sickeningly sweet smile at Deardra. 

“So, you can either wait _here_ \--on our luscious, gracious, beautiful campus where all amenities are gratuitous--and receive Fitzroy’s remains as _soon_ as they come into my possession. Or...you can drive that carriage allllllll the way back to your home, in the middle of _nowhere_ , where it may take _weeks_ for his remains to come to you-- _if_ they even come at all. After all, you know how _unreliable_ the messenger services can be, hm?” He knows his offer is too good for the grief-stricken mother to refuse; try as she might to maintain a brave face, he can read through the cracks in her facade like writing on the wall. Even saying his name is enough to have her cringing; almost like the sound of it forces her to accept the reality of her life, and she’d rather dance around it for the time being. 

At the end of the day, he knows what she is going to do, so it doesn’t even bother him that she snatches the key so rudely off his desk. He just gives her that customer service smile and nods to himself. 

“Yes, I can have my secretary lead you to your quarters if you wish--” 

“--I’m sure I can find it on my own.” Deardra cuts him off, turns on her heel, and strides out of the room without even a word of thanks or a goodbye. How rude! Grey sees the appalled expression of his halfling secretary for only a moment before the door slams shut, leaving him in his quiet office once more. He leans back in his chair and pauses for a moment's breath, letting out only a _tiny_ fit of laughter once he’s sure she is long gone. 

“Ohhhh, Grey, you have outdone yourself to _day_!” He cheers, sliding his notepad back in front of him to admire the sketch he’d been working on previously. The tall, solitary wooden arch announcing, “WELCOME TO DUST FIELD: THE WEST’S FIRST FRONTIER” greets his delighted eyes before he puts it away again. 

The ball is in his court. Now, all he needs is time to line up his shot. 

\---

Althea Song walks confidently through the halls of Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s, despite the internal paranoia she’s been holding inside since the night of the demon attack. Fellow H.O.G. members look to her and nod, continuing with their own leg of the investigation. Althea nods back, thankful to have enough of a say within the organization to drag this procedure out as long as possible. She rounds a corner and ends up in a relatively empty hallway; only then does she let out the long breath she’s been holding, slowing her pace to allow a moment for herself. 

It’s been a _long_ two months, that much is for sure. 

Althea knew she needed to do something once she heard of the Thundermen’s “disappearance”. She refuses to call it anything other than that, even if tabloids have already decided their fates. Her reasoning is that there wouldn’t have been enough demons to corner and finish them off, given the fact that her, Bloodhawk Barb, and the other students were occupying the vast majority of them. She watched them fly off on the pegasi; there’s no way they could have been killed! 

It’s that doubt she’s kept with her this entire time, allowing her to be skeptical where others are dismissive. She also holds a healthy distrust of the school’s headmaster, “Hieronymous Wiggenstaff”, which is why she decided to start such a thorough investigation of the school. Fitzroy’s words ring through her head each night--reminding her of the true danger of the man in power--and she becomes more and more aware of how deep Faux-ronymous’s power goes. She’s faced blockades in this investigation that would have _never_ happened before; no doubt due to the demon prince’s hands in the pockets of certain head-honchos. Investigators were slow to arrive to the school, and she was only able to put the school on lockdown after a week and a half of writing requests to the Board of Directors. The worst part is, at the end of the day, she knows they won’t end up with a whole lot of damning evidence. If Fitzroy is to be believed, the fake headmaster has had _fifty_ years to build alliances and alibis that would exonerate him of any crime. 

But that doesn’t matter much to Althea. All she cares about is that, so long as the investigation is underway, there isn’t a _thing_ Faux-ronymous can do without accidentally revealing himself. And _that_ gives the Thundermen time to collect themselves, hide, or whatever it is they’re doing. Though, she worries she may have given them _too_ much of a head start, now that a group of students is looking for them. She regrets letting Rhodes and her friends go out into those woods alone, but a part of her still fears the worst may have happened to those boys. She hopes they are able to regroup and send word back to her because she isn’t sure how much longer she can push the investigators around. 

Most of all, she hopes she’s doing anything useful and that she hasn’t already lost it all, like all those years ago...

“Oh!!” Althea hits the ground with a yelp, embarrassment immediately flooding her as she realizes she must have run into someone in a completely empty hallway. She looks up to see an elven woman in an impressive red velvet jumpsuit and simple black pumps. The woman is quick to her knees, brushing dust off her chest and the brass buttons that trail down the front. She rises to her feet and turns to Althea, allowing her to take in the sight of the features painted across her tan skin. She has a familiar nose and a pair of golden-honey eyes, her ears adorned with dangling earrings. Her hair is brown with streaks of grey, cascading down her back in an impressive braid. It takes Althea a moment to realize a hand has been extended towards her, and she feels quite silly when she takes it to rise to her feet. 

“I-I am _so_ sorry, ma’am,” Althea starts, shaking her head in hopes it subdues her blush. “I-I wasn’t looking, and I am just--I hope I didn’t mess up anything--” 

“--You dropped your papers,” The woman responds calmly, pointing down to their feet to the scattered papers. Althea jumps when she realizes and quickly scrambles to collect the documents. “Oh, let me hel--Wait.” The woman picks up a particular page, and Althea nearly snatches the paper out of her well-manicured hands when she notices what the woman is looking at. 

It’s a picture of Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, taken from the yearbook. Merely a cover page for his file, but it causes the woman to pause and rest her finger on his face. It is then that the familiar features click into place and Althea Song understands she’s just run into-- 

“Mrs. Maplecourt, I--I’m so sorry,” What is she apologizing for now? Running into her, or for this whole mess she’s thrown this poor woman into? Althea isn’t sure. 

“I-It’s Deardra,” Deardra whispers, quickly wiping away the tears that collect in her eyes. “Thank you, but it’s alright.” She hesitates for a moment before handing the page back. “Are you...I’m assuming that you’re with the H.O.G.?” Althea nods, taking the paper and placing it at the top of the Fitzroy’s file before stowing the papers away in its proper folder. 

“Yes, actually I’m the lead investigator.” She replies, “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Althea Song,” she extends her hand for a handshake, which Deardra accepts gracefully. Given the older woman’s poise, it comes as no surprise that she comes from the prestigious Maplecourt family (though--according to Althea’s records--Deardra has been removed from the family, you wouldn’t be able to tell from her behavior). Althea stands once more, adjusting the files in her arm so they are less likely to fall out. Deardra regards her for a moment before asking:

“I hate to halt your work for any longer, but I have to ask: my...my son’s remains. Where are they?” The vigor in Deardra’s voice is gone--no longer the fiery beast she was in that bastard headmaster’s office--and she looks at the woman in front of her honestly. Openly. “I have been in... _shambles_ since I got the news. A-And I’ve been _asking_ the headmaster to return whatever remains are left to me so I can finally have my peace, but _he_ insists they’re stuck in the bureaucratic system of _your_ department. S-So, do you--or would you perhaps know _anybody_ who I could get into contact with about returning them to me? It...It would mean a lot.” Althea considers what she’s asking and comes to the conclusion almost immediately. 

“Oh, we don’t have them,” Althea answers. Deardra looks at her strangely, so she continues. “Well, I’m sure you don’t need me to explain how... _little_ was left at that campsite, but even then we haven’t had them for weeks! We originally took them in for forensic analysis when we taped off the area, but that leg of the investigation has long-since closed. Anything we had from the campsite we felt was pertinent we handed off to the school when we were finished, so that would include any...remains.” The word feels wrong to say in her mouth, especially given her hunch. Deardra’s strange expression morphs to one of pure anger as she turns and glares in the direction she came from. 

“ _That fucking liar_ ,” She hisses, pointing in that direction. “ _He_ \--Why I oughta--He _told me_ **_you_ ** _had them_!! That lying sonuvabitch, I oughta go back there and give that idiot headmaster a piece of my mi--” Deardra moves to storm off, but Althea stops her. Deardra turns, confused. Althea waits a moment before she says anything, still deciding whether or not this is a good idea to mention. 

But, gods be damned, if there isn’t a person on Nua worthy of hearing this information; it’s the mother caught in the middle. 

“Listen, I--” Althea looks around her, suddenly aware of the danger hidden within the campus walls. Garys line both sides of the hallways, surveying the area with piercing, stone eyes and ears that hear all. She can’t say it--not here. “Where were you headed?” Her tone is casual, but her face is urgent. Deardra feels an icy chill creep up her spine. 

“Um--Faculty Residence.” She replies. Althea nods, pulling Deardra closer so they’re standing side-by-side. 

“Why don’t I take you there? I have a pretty good knowledge of the campus, at this point,” Althea announces, leading Deardra down the hallway. After a few steps, she leans in and whispers, “ _We aren’t safe here. I’ll explain when we’re out in the open_ .” Deardra looks at the elven woman out of the corner of her eye and nods, feeling for _once_ like she isn’t being led in circles. 

The two women walk back into the fray of the bustling Saturday morning, and all continues as it should. 

\---

Zephyr wakes up Sunday morning and _finally_ doesn’t feel like his skull is about to split in half.

He slowly gets out of bed and decides to shower, scrubbing off the final dregs of hangover that still cling to his body. As he goes through his shower routine--skincare, haircare, and the works--he sifts through what memories he has left of the past two days. 

Friday night is...a bad memory, to be honest. Most of the night was fucking baller and Zephyr felt like he was, for once, completely in his element. Social butterfly as he is _not_ , there is always a boosted sense of confidence whenever a few drinks go into him; and he was thriving amongst his friends and his twin. They raged for most of the night--Zephyr and Nikolai staying pretty close to one another for the first part of the night so everyone could get in their birthday wishes before splitting off to have their own fun. Zephyr got to catch up with some of his old buddies from his tattooing apprenticeship, as well as play a game of Flip Cup _so_ intense they smashed one of the fold-out tables the twins bought for the occasion. It wasn’t until Nikolai’s friend from out-of-town showed up that things got crossed--quite literally, since this dude had the hookup for some of the strongest weed he’s smoked in a _while_. 

But that is about the last nice memory he has of the night as the rest got...a little out of control. Let’s just say that no one really wanted to stick around after his outburst at Roy, and the party was sufficiently cleared out by about 4 A.M.. Aaron was out cold atop a Pong table, and it took the twins’ combined inebriated strength to carry the genasi upstairs to their apartment. They deposited him on the couch and decided to let him sleep it off, leaving any cleaning for the next day when they’re more sober.

Zephyr awoke Saturday morning to the worst hangover he’s experienced in his _life_ and knew he wouldn’t be able to do shit for the next 24 hours. Most of the day he spent making dashes to the bathroom, chugging Fantasy Pedialite, and sleeping. For the brief moments he was coherent, he thought of the fight the night before. In his mind, the prick had it coming for a while, but he can’t help but feel a little bad for his friend. He would’ve gotten up to check on Aaron that day, but the few muffled whimpers he heard through the thin walls was enough to tell him to wait. 

Now, with his hangover thoroughly eradicated and his body feeling refreshed, he steps out of the shower and throws on some comfortable clothes. He expects the apartment to still be trashed from Friday--he might even suggest to Nikolai that they keep the shop closed on Monday so they have time to thoroughly clean the parlor--but when he opens the door he notices the place is...spotless. The crushed solo cups and cigarette butts are gone, the walls are clean of any grime, and as Zephyr walks out to the kitchen he sees that everything is as it once was. He spots Aaron unconscious on their couch, changed out of his party clothes and into a pair of Nik’s old sweats and one of Zephyr’s hoodies (that Nikolai, undoubtedly, stole from him). Their throw blanket is draped over the genasi’s sleeping form--curled in on himself like he’s an animal protecting himself from predators. It makes Zephyr’s heart twist in a painful way so he turns away, deciding to make some coffee to help ease the sleep-fog clouding his brain. 

The coffee pot drips and drips as Zephyr stands in the kitchen, alone. The silence is suffocating as remorse settles into his bones, but he stubbornly refuses to feel bad about what he did. The only reason he feels this bad is that Aaron got hurt in the process; but it’s better that he knows _now_ than to continue to pine after that self-concerned douchebag and be hurt a lot later. He isn’t sure what Roy said to him when they were both outside, but the look on Aaron’s face when he came back inside haunts Zephyr in this moment. 

Eyeliner smudged from the tears he shed before the fight. Glitter dotting random spots on his face from the fallout. His lips scrubbed raw of their sheen from wiping away vomit. His eyes were glassy but...hollow. Like everything in him was gone completely and he no longer had the ability to shed the tears building in his tear ducts. His mouth was a flat line; his bangs hung in his eyes. He looked at Zephyr and stopped for only a moment. Zephyr looked back and saw...nothing.

The guy lost it all and he no longer cared.

The coffee pot beeps once to announce its completion and Zephyr nearly knocks his mug onto the ground. Still, he rights himself, pouring himself a _tall_ mug of the steaming liquid before adding in his requisite creamer and two sugars. Simple, easy, and to-the-point: like it should be. He takes his first sip, immediately scalding his lip on the still-boiling hot coffee, and basks in the streak of light pouring in through the kitchen window. Standing there, though, feels...weird. He’s almost immediately filled with that same regret he felt before and decides to take his coffee outside to the balcony. Maybe the fresh air will help clear his head. 

He walks back down the small hallway and to the sliding glass door at the end of it. He steps outside, feeling the slight chill of the morning breeze past him as he shuts the slider behind him. It is then that he notices his sibling already out here, cigarette pressed between their lips as they stare out at the open desert. There is an uncomfortable silence that forms between the two of them as Zephyr settles down on one of the chairs. The balcony is not large--just wide enough to fit a small coffee table, two deck chairs, and a plush lounge chair. Nikolai sits crosslegged on the lounge chair, ashtray settled in their lap as they tap off their ashes. Zephyr sips from his coffee and tries shaking off the weird tension. It feels increasingly harder to ignore the events of Friday; and as Nikolai snubs out their cigarette and turns towards their brother, he’s certain what is about to come out of their mouth is going to be about it. 

“I’m mad at you,” They announce plainly, turning away to stare out once more. Zephyr furrows his eyebrows as he looks at his sibling. 

“Why?” He asks, taking another sip of coffee. He watches them pick up a can of RedMinotaur and take a drink from it, setting it back down on the deck to their left. 

“You know why.” They reply cryptically, gaze still locked on the horizon. Zephyr rolls his eyes.

“No, I _don’t_ know why, or else I wouldn’t have asked.” Nikolai doesn’t respond nor will they look at him, and the tension is starting to make Zephyr feel antsy. “Listen, if you wanna talk about what happened, then talk. But don’t just sit here and play the mysterious stranger role because it’s starting to wig me out--” 

“You fucked up.” Nikolai’s voice is flat but firm, catching their twin by surprise. It is a cold day in Hell if you manage to make Nikolai so mad that they stop expressing it in their voice. It means they’re suppressing it; tamping it down so it festers and boils over in self-destructive rage somewhere down the line. Hearing _that_ tone from his sibling puts Zephyr on high-alert. Sweat begins to gather on his forehead as he scrambles to respond. 

“W-What?” Is all he can manage before Nikolai whips their head to face him. Their face is strangely calm, but the hard lines set in their face paint a picture-perfect expression of scorn. 

“Don’t fucking _what_ me, bro. You _know_ what I’m talking about,” They say, accusatory. Zephyr’s face flares in an indignant flush and he huffs. 

“W-What?! You mean about Friday? What the hell did I fuck up!?” Zephyr blurts out, suddenly feeling more heated than normal. “Wh--Is it about Aaron? B-Because I’d say, like-- _yeah_ , did I maybe go a bit overboard? Sure. But the prick _deserved_ to be put in his place a little!” 

“Bull _shit_ ,” Nikolai spits back, “You’re just sayin’ that because you wanna feel high and mighty about dragging some poor guy out to court without no fuckin’ say. B-Because _you_ wanna act like you weren’t just being a jealous bitch about the whole thing.” 

“Oh, fuck _you_ ,” Zephyr rolls his eyes dramatically. “You know I was doing it for Aaron.” 

“Were you?? Were you _really_ ? ‘Cause that’s not what _I_ saw.” Nikolai turns their full body to face Zephyr, shoulders squared like they’re ready for a fight. “All _I_ saw was a drunk, jealous _idiot_ embarrassing our friend and his friend because you couldn’t get out of your own _ass_!” 

“ _Fuck you_ !” Zephyr sets his coffee mug down on the table a little _too_ hard, the hot liquid splashing out onto the face of it. “I was doing what I thought was _right_ by the both of us!!” 

“The both of _who_ !? You and Aaron, or you and your _fragile ego_ !? Because it sure as _hell_ wasn’t the former!” 

“Why do you suddenly get to be Mister High-and-Fuckin’-Mighty about everything!?! Like you haven’t thrown your own fair share of hands over stupid shit.” 

“So you _admit_ that what you did was stupid, then??” 

“ _No_ , I--I’m just saying that--WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM!?” 

“MY _PROBLEM_ IS THAT YOU WERE **SELFISH** !!!” Nikolai’s voice echoes out into the empty land in front of them, Zephyr left sitting with his mouth hung open. “You’ve been selfish about this situation the _entire_ . _Time_ ! I have not _once_ seen you act in a way that wasn’t self-congratulatory or self-serving when it came to helping or even just _being there_ for Aaron! You don’t think I missed the little speech you gave him in the bar on Tuesday, did you!? ‘I’ve been in plenty of situations where I’ve desired something just because I’ve wanted to desire anything at all’??? Are you fucking for _real_ , dude!? You have been projecting your _own_ fears and your _own_ problems onto Aaron since day fucking _one_ and I’m _sick_ of letting you get away with it!! You don’t. Know. _Everything_ , okay!? You don’t. You never have and you _never_ . _Will_ . None of us will! All we know is what we know about ourselves and the world--but _you_ decided to take everything you know about _your_ life and project it onto someone who is completely different! Listen, I _know_ how rough your life has been--we may not share a brain, but we share a heart, and I _feel_ the years we spent apart every waking moment of every goddamn day. But you can’t just project _your_ years of loneliness and feeling like an outcast with no one to love onto somebody else just because you feel a ‘kindred spirit’. Aaron. Isn’t. You. He has his _own_ shit, and his _own_ life, and his own history that I don’t even think we’ll ever know the extent of! That doesn’t give us the right to assume it, though! J-Just let him live!! Let him and Roy play their stupid little game of romantic cat-and-mouse, I don’t fucking care! Just--you fucked up!!!” Nikolai stops only for a moment, fists clenched at their sides. 

“You fucked up, and I want you to fix it.” They conclude, piercing their brother with a stare so intense it makes the hairs on his arms stand. “And until you fix it, I’m gonna be mad at you.” The tension between them is still palpable, but the air has lifted with the burden of Nikolai’s pent-up aggression. Leaving Zephyr to sit there and wonder if he should be pissed off or thankful that they got it all out at once. 

The truth of their words is...painful, though. It stings deeper than any tattooing needle could go--it strikes at his pride, his heart, his _judgement_ . Maybe he _was_ wrong. Maybe he projected his problems a little too heavily onto his friend. Maybe he should have thought out his actions before he socked some dude in the face. But there’s nothing he can do about it now, right? 

...Right?

“What...what do you want me to do, Nik?” Zephyr’s voice is quiet, sounding like the voice of a man who has already given up. “Y-Yeah, y’know, you’re right. I screwed this whole thing up and--and it’s _my_ fault Aaron is sleeping like a miserable sack of shit on our couch, okay?? Is that what you wanted to hear?? That I was _wrong_ ?? I just...what am I supposed to do about it now!? I-I can’t just take it all _back_ , y’know? It happened…” Nikolai doesn’t respond immediately, leaving Zephyr in the suffocating silence. He curls in on himself a bit, crossing his arms and looking away as his chest clenches with the suffocating guilt. 

“I mean, you could apologize.” Nikolai suggests, after a minute or so. “That’s always a good start.” Zephyr looks back at his sibling with wide eyes. 

“A-Apologize? To who? Aaron?” He doesn’t want to say it. He knows what’s coming, but he doesn’t want to say it. 

Nikolai stares at him, displeased. 

“Who do you _think_.” Ah, fuck. Nikolai snorts at that (Zephyr then realizing he said that aloud and turning away in embarrassment again). “Suck up your pride and go apologize, dummy.” Zephyr flushes, drinking his now lukewarm coffee in lieu of responding. 

He knows it’s the right thing to do, but _fuck_ if it ain’t also the worst way he could think of spending his Sunday. 

\---

Turns out, it’s more like the worst way Zephyr could be spending his _Monday_ , since the half-elf was nowhere to be seen around town the day before. So, he came back home, devised a plan and rough outline of his apology, and slept not a wink that night. 

Now, he stands outside of Parker Lumber, wringing the sleeve of his black trench coat like it’s the only thing able to keep his feet on the ground. The building sits unassumingly--one might even say that it is _inviting_ people to come inside, but Zephyr’s legs are stone pillars wedged into the earth below. His social anxiety seizes his lungs and squeezes all the air from them; his mind screams at him to turn heel and just skip town until it all blows over. 

But he can’t let his sibling down again. He can’t let _Aaron_ down again. So he swallows his nerves, as well as his pride, and pushes open the door to Parker Lumber. 

The tiny bell atop the door chimes as he enters the storefront, alerting the workers to the presence of a customer. The smell of sawdust and polish permeates his nose, but he finds it pleasant. After hovering awkwardly by the door and seeing no one come out to greet him, he decides to step farther into the store. The storefront is closed today, but Jenny has always kept the door unlocked in case people need to purchase something last-minute or if they just want to come in and shoot the breeze. He waits awkwardly by the front counter--considering whether he should turn heel and try again tomorrow or to hop the counter and walk further into the shop--when finally he sees someone come out of the back entrance. 

“Honey, is that you? I _said_ I would be fine without my lunch for one day--” Jenny starts to say before she turns and sees who is. In that moment, her demeanor goes from the happy-go-lucky carpenter Zephyr has always seen to the human equivalent of an angry mother hen. “Oh. Yer not my wife.” Zephyr can feel his sweat on the collar of his coat and suddenly he feels ridiculously small. 

“N-No, I’m not.” Zephyr replies awkwardly. He pauses for a moment, struggling to remember what he was even here to do under the intense scorn of Jenny Parker-Ross. “U-Uh, I’m, um--Is Roy around…? I--” 

“--Oh _no_ you don’t,” Jenny cuts him off, stepping closer and pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You ain’t steppin’ a foot _near_ that boy, ya hear me? I heard what happened at yer little party on Friday--that shit don’t fly in my establishment, and I ain’t boutta let you deliver any finishing blows while he’s workin’.” She gestures to the shop around them. “This here place? This is _my_ domain. _I_ make the rules here--law be damned--so I will _gladly_ knock your scrawny ass to the ground if you think of even _trying_ anything, you hear me? This is Roy’s safe place--I ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to him here so long as I’m breathin’ and my name is still Jenny Kickass Parker-Ross!” Zephyr takes a step back, holding his hands up defensively against Jenny’s verbal barrage. 

“H-Hey, hey!! I’m not here to cause any trouble!” He insists. “I-I came here to apologize, okay?? I-I fucked up and I wanna m-make things right!” That seems to get Jenny’s attention because she backs off, considering the tiefling’s body language like one might observe a wild animal. After a moment of looking him up and down, she nods to herself. Zephyr feels like he completed some great task.

“Aight...you can come talk to ‘im,” she says. Zephyr lets out a sigh of relief. “ _But_ ,” she points at him again, “I’m gonna be right here waitin’, and if I hear _anything_ I don’t like then I’m gonna haul yer ass outta there and slap you from here to Sunday and back ‘round again. Y’understand me, boy?” 

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” Zephyr nods his head emphatically. Jenny relaxes her shoulders a touch and opens the little double-door so he can come behind the counter. She leads him into the break room and opens the door to the shop, holding a finger up for Zephyr to wait. 

“Wyatt!! Come take yer lunch break!! That’s an order!!” She calls out into the shop, and it is then that Zephyr realizes--oh gods, oh fuck, _Wyatt works here_. 

“Comin’, boss!” Wyatt calls back in that adorably cadenced voice of his, and Zephyr suddenly goes from being lightheaded out of fear to being lightheaded out of love. Fantasy Christ, why is he so fucking gone when it comes to Wyatt? He takes a second to make himself look like less of a mess while they both wait, and then he sees that familiar mop of blonde curls poke through the door. He gets around Jenny and freezes once he locks eyes with Zephyr, and that is the exact moment Zephyr remembers another thing: 

There is _no_ way Wyatt likes him anymore, after what he did to Roy. 

To further that feeling, Wyatt’s face falls from one of surprise to one of disappointment. Zephyr has never felt more like a walking pile of shit. 

“O-Oh, what are you doing here?” Wyatt asks, clutching the arm that holds his lunchbox. “I--You better not try anything stupid, o-or I’ll--” 

“--At ease, private, I got that whole mess taken care of.” Jenny says, slapping a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Zephyr, here, has actually come to _apologize_. Ain’t that right, young man?” Jenny quirks a brow at the tiefling that startles him to life. 

“Y-Yeah, I just--Um, look. I-I realize that I kinda made myself look like a complete _ass_ on Friday, a-and it wasn’t fair to Roy...I just wanna clear the air, is all. S-So maybe we can all...go back to normal?” The last part feels like a Hail Mary to the universe--something that he has no expectations to actually happen but would be damn grateful if it did. His explanation seems to sway Wyatt, but Jenny is rock-solid in her distrust. 

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she says as she opens the door to the shop. “Y’got ‘bout a half hour, or until I think yer done.” Zephyr stares at the door for a moment, nerves returning full-force. He looks to Wyatt for a moment--his expression is hard-to-read, but for just a moment..he smiles. 

Well, here goes nothing. 

He walks into the shop, hearing the door shut behind him, and surveys the area. Immediately, he spots the half-elf at a workbench sawing some wood. He briefly wonders if he should have asked for a pair of safety goggles, but he decides the eye-splinters might be penance enough for his “sins” and walks to the back. Roy’s focus is locked on his saw, and the sound of it muffles the thump of Zephyr’s steel-toed boots against the concrete floor. He reaches the half-elf and waits anxiously while he completes his task, but Roy is faster in noticing Zephyr than Zephyr is at voicing his presence. He turns, looking up at the tiefling, before returning to his work. The power saw revs to life once more. 

“U-Um, Roy?” Zephyr says, just loud enough to be heard over the machine. Roy continues to cut wood. The saw powers off once more as Roy moves the wood aside, grabbing a new piece. “Hey, Roy? Can we talk?” Zephyr seizes the opportunity, but he is ignored once more. The sound of machine teeth cutting through material rings throughout the shop. 

Okay, he’s definitely doing this on purpose. 

The power saw clicks off and this time Zephyr steps closer. 

“Roy, listen, I know you’re mad but can we just ta--” The power saw revs to life again, cutting another piece of wood. Zephyr feels his forehead pulsate with frustration, but he tells himself he deserves a bit of scorn and holds out. 

Roy’s pile is dwindling. There’s no _way_ he can keep this up for much longer. 

Five minutes later and it has become offensively obvious that Roy is just cutting wood to ignore him. 

Zephyr’s resolve is about ready to snap, but he holds off again. Instead of blowing up at this asshole, he decides to be crafty. Finding the power source takes only a second, and Zephyr waits for Roy to finish his cut before pulling the plug on the power saw. The machine dies in Roy’s hand and silence fills the room in its absence. Roy turns around and pulls off his safety goggles. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you need something?” He asks casually. 

If this were any other time, Zephyr would gladly give this prick a black-eye to match his bandaged nose. _But_ he has a job to do, so Roy be damned if he isn’t going to at least give his piece. 

“Can you just stop avoiding me for five seconds so I can say my piece?” Zephyr asks a little _too_ angrily. It puts Roy immediately on the defensive, turning in his stool fully as he slaps down his goggles on the work table. 

“Was Friday night not enough for you?” He replies, taunting the tiefling into a fight. Zephyr knows these types of guys all too well from his time abroad. They’d rather instigate than speak plainly, so Zephyr decides to not let Roy have what he wants. 

“ _Not_ like that,” Zephyr explains, waving the plug a bit. “Can I put this thing down, or are you just gonna keep cutting wood until I leave?” Roy rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’d _like_ to keep sawing--y’know, ‘cause that’s my _job_ and I’m at _work_ right now--but sure! Let’s hear what _other_ bullshit you have to lecture me about!” Roy replies, mocking Zephyr with false enthusiasm. Gods above, Zephyr _hates_ this guy. 

“ _Look_ , I’m not here to chew you out or anything like that, so can you please stop acting like such an asshole?” Zephyr says. Roy places a hand over his heart in offense. 

“ _Me_ ? _I’m_ the asshole? _I’m_ the one being the asshole here? Me--the guy whose job _you_ barged into and whose work _you_ interrupted--I’m the one being the asshole?? Not the dude who socked me in the face for--let me remind you--not a _single fucking good reason_ ?? _Wow_ , I guess the meaning of the term ‘asshole’ has changed in the past 48 hours!” Alright, that’s _it_. 

“Oh my fucking _gods_ just _shut up already_ !!!” Zephyr cries out, slamming his hand against the table. Roy looks up at him defiantly, ready to stand up and fight. For second, Zephyr almost lets him have what he wants. Almost shoves his stupid high-horse-talkin’ ass over and kicks him in the gut. Gives him the kind of beat-down he fucking _deserves_. 

But...he doesn’t. Because Nikolai expects better from him. Wyatt expects better from him. Hell, _he_ expects better of himself! So he takes a deep breath and tries again. 

“I’m _sorry_ , okay?” Zephyr says, loud enough to hopefully pierce through Roy’s thick skull. “I’m...sorry about Friday night. I was--I was drunk, and I was high, and that isn’t any excuse for what I did but I overreacted because I--I wanted a reason to hate you. Alright? That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to get out--that’s why I fuckin’ closed my shop today and dragged my pride by the _balls_ to stare your boss in the face and tell her that I was dumb and I shouldn’t have done that to you. It was...It was wrong of me to assume my own feelings onto Aaron and react accordingly. I realize now that the situation was blown... _way_ out of proportion and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it now other than to say I’m sorry…” Roy looks at Zephyr for a bit in silence, the tiefling feeling like a deflated balloon after letting that all out. Then, Roy stands up and slaps his work gloves down onto the table. 

“Well, I’m glad you got that out of your system,” he says, walking away. Zephyr looks at him, confused, and follows after him. 

“W-Where are you going?” Zephyr asks. Roy continues to walk until he reaches a line of coat pegs on the wall, grabbing his lunchbox from the shelf above it. 

“Taking my lunch break, what does it look like?” Roy replies casually, turning to face Zephyr. “You can go now.” Zephyr stares at him strangely. “What’s the problem?” 

“I-It’s just, uh…” Zephyr rubs the back of his neck, “You sorta, just...completely ignored what I said?” 

“No I didn’t,” Roy says immediately, looking--for his part--almost annoyed that he has to explain his bizarre sense of reasoning. “You said your piece and I listened. That’s all you came here to do, right?” 

“Well, like, _yeah_ but--You don’t have...anything to say to it?” Roy shakes his head. 

“You gave your apology, that’s fine. You’re not sittin’ here expecting me to _forgive_ you, are you? ‘Cause, uh, I _don’t_ .” That admittance changes the mood completely; Zephyr goes from being confused to knowing exactly what’s going on. Roy’s _pissed_ . “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be socked in the nose in front of a group of people, verbally bombarded with the most bullshit righteous excuses, and then forced to either stick up for yourself and look like even _more_ of an asshole or to leave with your tail in between your legs? Because, from personal experience, it isn’t exactly a _fun_ situation. And so no, ‘sorry I messed up’ ain’t gonna cut it for me.” 

“Look, I get that, I just--” 

“--I will _never_ be able to let that go.” Roy barrels right through Zephyr’s sentence, and Zephyr nearly jumps when a static shock zaps his tongue. “You can sit here and apologize all you damn well please, but that ain’t gonna change the fact that those _people_ \--the fuckin’ strangers at that party--will only ever know me as what you said I was. That kind of reputation you can’t fuckin’ escape, Zephyr. Even if I never see those people again, the memory of that night--that _me_ that you fabricated--will stick with them. All because of what?! Some stupid fuckin’ assumptions you had about me ‘cause you _wanted_ to hate me?! Well, congratulations, now everyone else feels that same hatred for me. And I don’t fuckin’ _care_ , but then don’t stand here and pretend I’m gonna just let bygones be bygones. _Fuck_ your bygones. You came for the most crucial part of any person: my _character_ . I can’t get back what you took from me so fuck you, I _don’t_ forgive you.” Zephyr takes a few steps back out of necessity; whatever Roy’s got going on with him, he seems to emit a kind of...electrostatic forcefield, and Zephyr isn’t trying to die today. 

“Okay, okay, just...just calm down, Roy.” Zephyr says in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. However, this seems to only have the opposite effect on the hot-headed half-elf. “I-I get it, okay? I _really_ screwed the pooch on this one, we don’t have to fight about it, though.” Roy makes an incredulous gesture to himself, sending a spark shooting out of his finger and into the rafters. Zephyr watches it and flinches. Roy notices this and looks down at his hand and immediately his demeanor changes. He stands less defensively, he relaxes his shoulders, and takes a deep breath. In an instant, the electrifying air around him dissipates and Zephyr feels a little less like he’s about to be shocked to death. 

“I--That happens sometimes, my apologies,” Roy says, a lot calmer than before. “I...I don’t have anything more to say to you, okay? Can we just be done with this?” He drops his lunchbox on the ground and, in a surprising moment of vulnerability, sinks to the floor. He presses his hands against his temples and breathes steadily (a method of calming oneself, Zephyr notes). The tiefling stands above him and watches. 

Then...something changes. 

Not in Roy, nor in the room. But...within Zephyr, something turns. Pieces fall together, the final picture is realized, and Zephyr realizes he...he got it _wrong_ . He got _Roy_ wrong. 

“Look,” Zephyr starts without any clue on how to finish. Roy doesn’t look at him; he has a feeling that’s for the better. “I...I misjudged you. You are an asshole, and you’re rude, an-and you’re a _prick_ ; but--fuckin’ hell, so am I! I-I’m usually just too...too anxious for anyone to notice. You, though, you’re just out in the open about it!” 

“Gee, thanks,” Roy says, tone flat. Zephyr flushes. 

“N-Not what I meant to say. Fuck, I--I kinda suck at saying stuff to anyone who isn’t my twin or a very close friend, alright? B-But I--You, uh--We’re a lot more alike than I realized, and maybe that’s why I wanted to hate you so much? Because, uh, ‘m not exactly my, uh...my biggest fan...And I can tell that you aren’t yours, either.” At that, Roy looks up, which is when Zephyr decides to sit in front of him. “You can have the biggest ego on Nua, but that don’t mean you need to like yourself all that much. The approval of others _means_ something to you, like it does for me. I-I let that desire for approval cloud my judgement, and I _get_ that that can mean fucking _nothing_ to you but I just need to say it. I...When I saw you and Wyatt getting closer, I saw someone like me having the one thing I’ve wanted for a _while_ : his approval. S-So I let it get into my head th-that you were some sort of _enemy_ , when you aren’t! You’re just a-a prick! And that’s fine ‘cause so am I!!” He sighs and looks to his hands, spinning one of his rings round and round on his finger. “I got in between you and Aaron ‘cause I wanted someone to share in my misery, I guess. And that wasn’t right to either of you. So...So I am sorry, Roy Fitzgerald. I’m sorry for being an asshole, and for being rude, and for being a prick. And, most of all, I’m sorry I made you believe you did anything wrong.” 

“Zephyr, can I be honest with you?” Roy asks without a moment's hesitation. Zephyr’s caught a little off guard--expecting his little speech to take longer to parse through--but he nods regardless. “There’s nothing going on between me and Wyatt, and I don’t honestly know why everyone seems to care.” Zephyr looks at Roy like he’s sprouted three heads that all spew fire, and Roy laughs. “I’m serious! We’re just friends, man!” 

“B-But--” Zephyr stutters, “The party? Y-You two were kissing!” 

“Not _kissing_ . _Kissed_ .” Roy clarifies matter-of-factly. “Bro, it was a fuckin’ rager in there! Everyone was drinking like it was their final night on Nua and the whole place _reeked_ of weed! People do shit when they’re intoxicated, I don’t know what to tell ya.” Zephyr clutches at his hair, pulling on it as he feels his entire body go out-of-balance. It’s like someone is trying to say the sky is green and then actually being _right_. 

“It--It didn’t mean anything?” Zephyr manages to ask. Roy nods emphatically in response. 

“Well, it didn’t mean anything to _me_ . He wanted to see if he actually had feelings or if he had projected them onto the wrong person and asked to kiss. I didn’t give a shit ‘cause I was drunk and I _knew_ nothing was gonna come of it, and literally seconds later we had a big laugh about it because he realized we’re not compatible like that!! That is _it_.” Zephyr feels like he’s going to die. He feels like he’s going to die and like he’s been given another chance at life at the exact same time. Suddenly the floor feels like the most comfortable place to be, so he slowly lets himself lay on the ground. Roy watches, amused. 

“I am a fucking idiot.” Zephyr states. 

“Yep, you sure are,” Roy says, standing up and retrieving his lunchbox once more. “But you should probably get off the floor before you get a splinter in yer eye or somethin’.” Zephyr immediately scrambles to his feet and the two men look at each other for a moment. The tiefling offers his hand, thoroughly embarrassed yet (surprisingly) relieved. 

“So, uh...are we cool?” He asks hopefully. Roy looks at his hand for a second, considering. He grabs Zephyr’s hand and shakes it, all the while saying: 

“I can’t necessarily forgive you quite yet...but I’m willing to let it be civil for now.” It is probably the most mature response to this strange conversation Zephyr could’ve expected from the guy, but he can’t say he isn’t happy with the outcome.

“Y’know what? I can live with that.” Zephyr replies, and the two let that be it. Zephyr turns to walk away, but then he remembers something. “Wait, Roy.” The half-elf turns mid-step and tilts his head. “I...You don’t have to forgive me, a-and we don’t ever need to talk again if that’s what you want. But...don’t punish Aaron with my mistake, alright. He...He cares about you a _lot_. More than I think you realize and more than I think he’s willing to admit. So...just don’t let me ruin what y’all have.” Roy looks at him for a long time, his expression surprisingly devoid of anything. 

Zephyr waits for a minute or so, but when he realizes he’s not getting an answer for this, he turns and walks away. Jenny and Wyatt wave to him as he leaves (a lot nicer than they were when he came in; probably because the conversation didn’t end in a fistfight), and Zephyr walks out feeling...strange. 

He should be satisfied, but he isn’t. 

The thought that all his work may have been for nothing looms over him as he heads home, and he hopes it all works out in the end. 

\---

“I’m tellin’ ya, honey, I’m worried,” Jenny says for about the fifth time this evening, pacing around their living room with Ferdinand slung over her shoulder. The rat, on his part, seems to enjoy being bounced around during his other mother’s panic. Lyra, lounging comfortably on her loveseat, sighs and continues to scratch behind Parsnip’s ears. The cat lets out a constant stream of purrs that rumble through the changeling’s chest from where the cat is seated. 

“I know, my love, but you gotta calm down for five seconds or you’re going to burn a track through our living room floor.” Lyra replies, for once the calm voice of reason against the tidal wave of anxiety. “Didn’t you say Zephyr went in and squashed the beef, yesterday?”

“That’s the _thing_ !” Jenny stops to point at her wife with the glass of wine she’s been holding. “I thought everything would be good now ‘cause he went in there and settled it, but I came in there after a few minutes and Roy was still...he was still brooding! ARGH, why does this boy have to be so emotionally constipated!?” She grabs at her ginger locks and holds tight, freckled face scrunched up in agony. “I just want him to _talk to me_ , honey! I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me!? I-I see him an’ I just see--I just see _you_ when you first got here, an’ it makes me just wanna reach out and give him a hug!” She takes a quick swig of her wine, accidentally downing the rest of the glass in one fell swoop. She notices this and fills it up once more, continuing, “Do you think it’s the mother instinct? O--Oh, gods, is my body tellin’ me it’s time for _kids_!?” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Lyra finally stands, displacing Parsnip as she approaches her wife. She carefully takes the too-full wine glass from her hands and replaces it with her own, intertwining their fingers together. “Take a deep breath with me, baby.” She takes in a breath for a count of four and then exhales for four, keeping an eye open to make sure Jenny is following suit. In a few cycles time, Jenny is back to a normal level of worry, and Lyra gently pulls her down to the couch. “Your body isn’t telling you it wants kids--it’s just that big heart of yours loving too damn much. And, I hate to say it, but...maybe you just aren’t the person Roy needs to talk about this with.” Jenny stares at her wife, offended. “That isn’t a bad thing! I know you care about him, but...you _know_ you can be a lot sometimes, Jen.” 

“B-But I jus--” 

“-- _Shhhhhh_ I know, sweetheart.” Lyra touches her finger to Jenny’s lips, which Jenny takes as an opportunity to grab her hand and kiss it. Lyra blushes and rolls her eyes playfully. “Haven’t you ever thought that maybe that kind of...energy...isn’t what Roy needs? That maybe you need to take a different approach?” Jenny may be proud, but she can’t deny that Lyra may also be...right. 

“What do I do, then?” Jenny says with a sigh, leaning back against the couch in defeat. “I-I just worry that if he don’t get it out, then...then he might think he’s not as loved as he is an-an’ do something rash. I--I just...I’m worried about those two, Lyra.” Her voice is soft, almost afraid. “I’m worried they’re gonna lose each other like how we almost did, but this time there won’t be anythin’ bringing them back together…” Lyra feels her insides turn at the sight of her beloved so sad. She reaches out and gently cups the side of her cheek, coaxing her head towards her. Lyra can read the planes of worry across her wife’s face and leans in to kiss them all away. Jenny chuckles, resting her available hand on her wife’s waist, but it’s clear her heart isn’t in it. 

Lyra knows how hard it was for the two of them to finally find the happiness they live in every day now, and she is frighteningly aware of how easily they could’ve lost it. If Lyra had actually ran away, there’s a chance she wouldn’t be in the arms of her soulmate today--a fate worse than death, no doubt. She rests her forehead against Jenny’s and breathes in the scent of oakwood and cologne. There is no greater scent than that of her lover’s, no greater sight than the beauty of her face in the morning and night. She can only imagine what her life would be like without Jenny, and the stories all end relatively short. 

She can’t deny the similarities she sees within herself and Roy, nor can she ignore the similarities between Aaron and Jenny. 

Which is why she has an idea. 

“Let me talk to him,” Lyra mutters, only loud enough for her wife to hear. Jenny looks into her eyes, confused. “Tomorrow, don’t go into work. I’ll go in and talk to him. I...I have a hunch that I’ve been itchin’ to figure out about that boy.” 

“B-But--” Jenny starts at her normal volume before stopping. “But are you...gonna be okay with that? I know yer still pretty pissed about the whole...hand thing…” Lyra tuts and brings Jenny’s right hand up to kiss it. 

“I’m fine so long as you’re fine, my dear.” Lyra says, kissing the burn marks softly. The sensation sends a chill down Jenny’s spine and she flushes, giggling as she pulls her hand away. 

“W-Well, if y’put it like _that_ …” Jenny jokes, Lyra laughing along with her. The couple share in their giggles for a moment longer before Jenny sighs, looking more content than she’s been the entire night. “Yer incredible, do you know that? Y’always know what to do to ease my nervous soul.” 

“It comes with the territory,” Lyra responds with a shrug. Jenny snorts, pulling her wife in for a proper kiss. 

The pair talk things over for a little longer and then head off to bed. 

In the morning, Lyra makes her wife breakfast in bed and runs a quick note to the bar, letting Aaron know he’s running the place by himself for the day. In the afternoon, she gets dressed in normal clothes (black boots, black leggings, and a simple black-and-pink floral patterned dress shirt) and makes her way over to her wife’s business. 

She spots Wyatt first at the counter, and she pats the boy on the shoulder twice before moving past him to the shop proper. Upon entering, she strides over to where Roy is seated. His workbench has a chest sitting atop it, the carvings only halfway completed on one side and completely bare on the other. A number of woodcarvers tools lay across the table, but Roy is currently occupied with his sandwich. He looks up at the sound of footsteps and nearly does a double-take when he realizes who it is. 

“Uh, hey?” Roy says, mouth full. He notices this, swallows, and tries again. “Where’s Jenny?” 

“Sick,” Lyra responds simply. She grabs a nearby stool and plops it in front of the half-elf. “Don’t worry, she’ll be better by tomorrow.” Roy looks at her skeptically, slowly taking another bite into his sandwich. Lyra watches, unblinking. 

Okay, so maybe she isn’t _fully_ alright with the whole hand situation. Sue her, she’s having fun. 

“Is she...actually sick? Or is that, like...a euphemism for some sex thing?” Roy asks slowly, to which Lyra actually snorts. 

“No, it’s not a sex thing! Though, shit, I guess it could sound like that when it’s coming from me…” Lyra says with a laugh. Roy plays along and laughs, but she can tell his heart isn’t into it. “Listen, can we talk?” At that, Roy sighs _very_ loudly and sets down his sandwich. 

“Dear Fantasy Jesus, _again_? This is the second time this week that my lunch has been interrupted by a ‘talk’!” He replies, exasperated, putting air quotes around the word “talk”. 

“Well, maybe you could stop having so many of these ‘ _talks_ ’ if you were _actually_ honest with people, hm?” Lyra says, unamused. Roy freezes and Lyra can see how little he trusts her in this moment. That’s fine; she’s here to fix that, his feelings be damned. “Look, you can either make this really hard by being a bitch _or_ you can sit here and answer me truthfully and we can _both_ be done with this conversation.” He opens his mouth to retort, but the look Lyra gives him seems to dash away any inclinations to do so. He shuts his mouth, crossing his arms and nodding towards her in the universal sign of “go on”. Lyra smiles victoriously and settles into her stool a bit more. 

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush because I have a feeling you don’t like that, and I _really_ don’t like that because wording shit is hard enough already. So, I...We have a lot in common, you and I.” Roy rolls his eyes at this, looking like this isn’t the first time he’s heard that phrase. “Okay, okay, cool the dramatics--Fantasy Hamlet--I’m not saying that like ‘oooohh we’re kindred spirits, you and I~!’ I mean, quite _literally_ , we have a lot in common.” And this is the moment where Lyra feels like she’s on the right track. 

Because Roy looks at her, and she can tell he’s _scared_ of the implication behind that sentence. 

Got him. 

“I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, and you can give me a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response.” Lyra prefaces, before placing her hands on the table and leaning ever-so-slightly into Roy’s space. An intimidation tactic--hopefully pressing enough buttons to get the truth out of him. “Are you a changeling?” Roy’s entire body locks up, but he passes it off like it’s nothing. He’s used to being backed into corners like this. He looks at her, confused, and shakes his head. 

“Uh, no.” He replies simply. Too simply. “I’m...I’m clearly a half-elf?” Ohhhhh, playing it off like it’s improbable, that’s _smart_. Luckily, Lyra’s smarter. 

“Yeah, but changelings have the ability to take on the appearance of any race,” Lyra explains like he wouldn’t know that information. “So, there’s still a very likely chance you _are_ a changeling.” 

“Y-Yes, but--but I’m not.” Roy quickly adds. “It’s--Why are you asking this?” Diverting from the original question. Okay, Roy, okay--two can play at this game, y’know. Lyra leans back, looking innocently above her as she shrugs. 

“I dunno, I just had a hunch ‘cause you’re not like any half-elf I’ve ever met,” Lyra explains with specific care to make that sentence sound as rude as possible. It does its job of making Roy uncomfortable, and she can see him subtly glance at his reflection in his stainless steel water bottle. He looks back at her, playing off his unease with an amused smile. 

“Um, rude, much?” 

“Maybe so, but I’m right,” Lyra counters, grabbing one of his chips to pop into her mouth while she thinks of the best way to prod him. “I mean--does your family naturally have rounder ear tips? Or did something happen to the left one?” She points to the ear (it twitches like a child who’s been caught sleeping during class) and Roy looks up at it for a moment, covering it with a hand. She watches that hand out of the corner of her eye, careful to spot anything out of place. 

“Okay, this is actually a really weird conversation, so I’m gonna get up and eat my lunch with Wyatt--” Roy says as he stands, moving his left hand to grab his food. 

_Oh_ , she got him _good_. 

“Now it’s sharper,” Lyra states, pointing back at the ear. Roy stops, looking at her unamused. 

“What does that mean?” He asks, irritated, but she can see it clear as day. His once normally-pointed ear (for half-elves, at least) is now almost to a razor-sharp point at the end. She pulls her compact out of her pocket and flips it open, pointing the mirror at the “half-elf”. 

“Look for yourself,” she says. Roy leans in and looks at his reflection, expression dropping when he notices the significant difference between his left and right ears. “Now, I _wonder_ why that was able to change so quickly!” Roy’s face is ghostly, and he looks at Lyra in a way that makes her stop. 

“Why did you do that…?” His voice is soft, almost scared, but she can see malice hidden closely behind. She stands up and gives herself distance between the two, but Roy’s eyes follow her. “D-Did you think that was _funny_ , Lyra? ‘Cause I don’t _think_ that’s _funny_.” 

“Hey, calm the fuck down, Roy,” Lyra warns as she suddenly feels very _very_ warm. In fact, the whole room feels like a sauna in the span of a few moments, and she can see faint arcs of lightning around him. “Roy, it’s not that serious,” 

“To _you_ , maybe? B-But you’re not _me_ !” He says, voice getting louder. The lightning arcs wider around him, static force pushing the tables away from him. “I’m _not_ a changeling, I-I’m _me_ ! Why do you have to doubt me!?” Lyra isn’t that well-versed in magic, but she can see some _major_ untapped power when it’s in front of her. She takes a step closer and shoulders the wave of needle-sharp shocks that attack her body. 

“Roy, shut the fuck up and look at yourself for ten fucking seconds.” Lyra retorts, continuing to walk closer. “You had normal ears before, I said one of them looked wrong, so you overcorrected. You _augmented your appearance_ , Roy! Why are you about to blow the damn roof off the building about it!?” Roy takes a step back, the needlepoint shocks feel more like knives. “Do you think it fucking matters to me?! Bitch, _I’m_ a changeling! Why the fuck do you think I’d care that much about this if I wasn’t?!” At that, he calms down a bit, the static force subsides enough for Lyra to stride right up to him and slap him across the face. 

“O- _Ow_ !” Roy cries out, but the slap does its job of knocking the panic attack right out of him. The magic fades (leaving Lyra a little numb all over) and Lyra grabs the changed ear roughly. “ _OW_! What the fuck!?” 

“Say it right now.” Lyra commands, voice even and hard. Roy flusters like he’s about to panic again, but Lyra curbs that before it can start again. “I cast Silence on the room when I came in. No one is gonna hear you say it but me.” Roy looks down at her and seriously studies her face. Lyra stares back, not budging in the slightest. He sighs. 

“I--Yes, I’m a changeling, okay?! That’s all you needed to hear, right?” Roy blurts out, pushing her hand off of his ear so he can fix it. Lyra smiles, feeling self-satisfied, and Roy sees this and huffs. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” 

“Yeah, but don’t ya feel better telling someone that?”

“ _No_ ! A-Are you fucking kidding me!?” Roy retorts, appalled. “I--The only reason I _told_ you is because you fucking _tricked_ me while my guard was down! A-And you--You _better not_ tell anyone or I swear--” 

“--Roy, I’m not gonna tell anyone. That’s your business who you tell,” Lyra quickly curbs that idea. Roy quirks an eyebrow at her, facial expression reading that he doesn’t exactly believe her. “Okay, so I made it _my_ business to know, but it’s _because_ we have a lot in common and I want to _help you_!” Roy still doesn’t look convinced. “Fine, do you wanna see what I used to look like?” In an instant, her appearance chances. Her skin is a lot more flush, dotted in freckles where her skin is usually bare. Her pale-blonde roots are replaced with a hay-yellow color, the pink changing to an electric purple. Her eyes go from a near-white to an emerald green--her lips look a slight bit fuller and her face rounds out. She grows a half inch and her body type looks far more slender than her usual (which is surprising, given she’s already pretty thin). Her ears sharpen to a full point and her fingers grow longer nails. 

She looks...not like Lyra. Roy watches this, mouth agape. 

“Yeah, this was me for a really long time,” Lyra says, gesturing to herself. “I grew up with non-changeling parents, too, and they wanted me to look like _their_ daughter. So I adapted into what they wanted, and I remained this way for most of my life. And then, things changed, I left home and was on the run for a few years. Though I changed my appearance a _lot_ back then,” she cycles through a few configurations of herself that she can remember, “I always kept the base. I just changed some features, grew my hair, shaved it all off, whatever I needed done. Now, I’m _me_ ,” she reverts back to herself. “But it took a _long_ time for me to get comfortable with myself and what I wanted to look like, so needless to say I tended to keep people at arm’s length until then. Roy, I didn’t trust _anybody_ with _anything_ . I had a new name for every city, a new life for each name, and if I ever divulged what I felt was too much of this--fabricated, mind you--self I’d skip town immediately. So, like, you can see where I’m headed, right?” Roy shakes his head, looking like he’s barely understanding all the new stimuli. “What I’m _saying_ is it isn’t healthy to treat everyone like they’re your enemies, Roy. You _have_ to trust those people who love you!”

“Bu--Okay, let’s wind it back a bit because I want to make one thing _clear_ .” Roy starts, “This? This...look? This appearance? This is _me_ , Lyra. I-I’m not walking around here like a Fantasy Where’s Waldo book, alright? I--I have been and I will always be _this_ ,” he grabs at his shirt and tugs on it to emphasize his point. “That’s not my issue.” 

“So then, what _is_ your issue?” Lyra asks. 

“My issue is tha--that I. _Fuck_ . I-I’ve...I-I,” he huffs, sitting down on the stool once more. “When I was young, my parents _had_ to have me look like them because of my mother’s family. They...They were rich and we _weren’t_ , and if they--if they thought I was not a child of my mother’s blood then they would excommunicate us from the family and, thus, the money. B-But that ended up happening _anyway_ ! It was like--It was like I had no way of appeasing them, even at infancy! A-And...I just want to prove to people that I am worth it. That I am _worth_ my name, a-and my identity. But, as you know, it isn’t... _easy_ for changelings to have a respectable name. So it was always easier to just...ignore it. I-I don’t--Lyra, I don’t resonate with that. It’s like a part of my past that I don’t understand, but I _know_ that it matters more to others than it does t’me. So I got rid of it. But….But I guess, in the process…” he trails off. 

“In the process, you forgot what parts were you and what parts you were trying to _prove_ were you.” Roy jerks up at Lyra’s voice, her expression gentle and understanding in a way that is almost painful. “Roy, every part of you _is_ you. You don’t need to prove yourself to anybody! I--I’m not gonna ask for your whole story, ‘cause I figure I’m not the one who deserves to have that, but...but you have to _trust_ that the people in your life love you _because_ you’re you. N-Not because you’re this tough-guy, half-elf, carpenter, newcomer, town-saver, whatever the hell else. It’s because _you_ ,” she reaches out and pokes his chest, “are Roy Fitzgerald.” Roy looks at her and smiles, small and genuine. She returns it, patting him on the arm. 

“Now, see! We did it! No more serious conversations, alright? You can go back to your lunch,” Lyra jokes, gesturing to his sandwich at the table a few feet away. “Well, once we drag the table back. Oh, yeah! Do you worship the Traveler to get that magic, or is it like, an innate thing?” Roy looks at his hands, confused, as Lyra gets up to push the table back in place. 

“Um, I don’t know who that is,” Roy answers. 

“That’s interesting,” Lyra notes, “The Traveler is the patron deity of changelings! It is said that they are the reason changelings can shapeshift; apparently, they are the source of all chaos and disorder or some shit.” She turns back to the table to drag it back, so she misses the look of horror on Roy’s face. “That’s really interesting, though! You should look into that.” She returns the table to its proper place and turns back to Roy, the expression already wiped off his face. 

“Um, yeah…” He says with a laugh. “Can I eat my sandwich now?” 

“Yeah, I’m done interrogatin’ ya,” Lyra says, elbowing him in the arm. He laughs again, swatting her away. “No, uh, seriously? Don’t just brush this off. I...I can’t stop you if you do, at the end of the day, but it’s. It’s nice to trust people.” Lyra twists her wedding ring around her finger. “Even if it’s only one person, it does wonders to have someone shoulder the weight of your world with you.” Roy glances down at her ring and then back to her, but by then she’s already turned and walked away. She leaves him with that final thought, content to go home and tell not a word of this to her wife.

After all, trust is important. Lyra isn’t about to go back on her own teachings. 

\---

The sun shines like a white-hot fire upon the expanse of desert. Despite its intense heart, the group of six see it as a welcome change of scenery. 

Even more welcome than that is the town, just barely visible in the distance. 

Even _even_ more welcome than that is the giddy, almost manic grin that splits across Rhodes face as she breathes out: 

“The trail ends _there_.” 

\---

Rainer would like to say she’s been pretty good throughout this trip. She’s kept up spirits, confided in secret, and _not_ killed Buckminster after the fifth time he barged into her tent--completely naked--asking about bars of soap. 

But now, with the destination so _tantalizingly_ close, she can’t help but go a little hard. 

“Come _on_ , people!” Rainer screams into the wind, chair whizzing atop the sandy floor as she speeds towards town. Her friends run a good ten feet behind her, quickly losing pace against this manic necromancer and her magic chair. “Hahahahahaaaaa I feel aliiiiiiiive!!” She rarely takes her chair up to these kinds of speeds, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

And she _desperately_ needs to pee in a real toilet. 

She slows down a bit when she gets closer, giving the others time to catch up and berate her for making them run so goddamn fast, but her excitement far outweighs her fear as the group reaches the first signs of life. 

A tall, wooden arch is the first thing they see, announcing that the town they’ve wound up at is called Dust Field. 

“The West’s First Frontier, huh,” Zana reads the sign, turning to Rhodes. “You sure this is the place.” Rhodes is about the only other person who can match Rainer’s energy right now, bouncing from foot to foot as she nods emphatically. 

“I can literally _smell_ them.” She says with glee. Rolandus scoffs. 

“Gross,” he notes. Buckminster elbows him in the ribs. 

“We should be careful, guys.” Leon says, looking around him uneasily. “W-We could’ve been lead of the trail by something, or some _one_ \--” 

“--Nope. No way.” Rhodes cuts him off, pointing at the ground several times. “This is the _end_ of the trail. I don’t see it leading anywhere else other than right _here_.” Leon looks away from her, still nervous, and Rainer notes this with concern. 

“Well! What are we all standing around here for? I say we get in there and find them already!” Buckminster announces, walking to the front of the group. “This town looks small, I’m _sure_ they’ll be easy to find--” 

“-- _Argo_ !” Rainer screams, pointing about fifteen feet in front of them. There sits a towering statue made of concrete of a man with a cowboy hat, and at the statue’s base is...well, it’s _gotta_ be Argo. Genasis are hard to come by in a place like this; plus, he reacts to Rainer’s voice in a way that assures her it’s him. “Hey!!!” She knocks past the group to race towards him, giving herself very little time to slow down. 

Because of this, she ends up ramming directly into Argo’s chest, knocking the rogue flat on the ground. Luckily, he moved ahead of the statue just far enough so that he didn’t split his head open on the concrete. Still, Rainer flushes, embarrassed. 

“Hehe, sorry!!” She apologizes with a nervous laugh. Argo looks up at her, dazed, and it gives her time to almost regret her actions completely. 

His hair is _noticeably_ shorter than how she last saw, along with his signature mustache. He also has a septum ring which--wow, _okay_ Argo, go off--and he’s dressed less like a gym nut and more like a...sexy bartender. 

“Um, you _are_ Argonaut Keene, right?” Rainer asks, “B-Because if you aren’t--ohhhhhh if you aren’t I am going to feel so embarrassed I might _actually_ die. Which--epic--but not cool because we’ve spent _three weeks_ trying to find our friends and then I’d die?? Right before that?? Wow, _not_ epic, if I do say so mysel--” 

“Rainer, i-it’s me!” Argo blurts out, sitting up. “J-Just, keep it down, will ya?” Rainer looks at him quizzically. 

“Why? Is it--ohhhhHHHHHHhhhh, _I_ get it. It’s like, secret identity shit, right? That’s probably why you chopped your hair off,” she says as she reaches out to tousle it, “By the way, _baller_ look you got goin’ on, man! This is, like, really unexpected? But _super_ cool, like--” 

“ARGO!” Buckminster yells, running over to crush the genasi in a hug. “Good to _see_ you, my friend! It’s been--hey, did you cut your hair?” 

“I fucking _knew it_ !!” Rhodes cheers to herself as she does a manic little victory dance. “I am literally the _best_ ranger on Nua oh my _gooooods_ \--” 

“HEY!” Argo gets everyone’s attention, silencing the group immediately. “It’s _super cool_ to see y’all, but I’m _not_ Argo.” He says this with emphasis; his looks saying ‘you have to believe me’. “My _name_ ...is Aaron Kennedy. You guys are thinking of my _cousin_ , who you are _also_ friends with... _right_?” It takes a second for the group to catch on, but when they do they collectively nod. 

“Sorry, Aaron!” Rainer says, loud enough for any random person to hear her. “Got a little _confused_ for a second!” Argo rolls his eyes but isn’t able to wipe the amused smile off his face. 

“Okay, now that that’s settled, I...we should probably go back to the apartment.” Argo turns towards town, looking conflicted. “Shit, I’m on break. I should have enough time to run you guys home before I have to clock back in.” 

“Hold on, you have a job?” Zana asks, dumbfounded. Argo turns back to her and shrugs. 

“I’m a bartender, it pays the bills.” 

“You pay _bills_?” Rolandus chimes in. Leon shakes his head, stepping ahead of everyone to place a hand on Argo’s shoulder. 

“Yes, that’ll be fine. We can talk when you’re all free.” He says. Argo nods, smiling up at the fighter. 

“Right, so I’m sure you guys will wanna shower and relax when you get there, but just _remember_ \-- _Roy_ and _Bud_ live there, too, so try not to cause too much of a ruckus around the place, _okay_?” The group nods, storing the names in their memory, as Argo leads them through town back to their apartment. 

All things considered, Rainer thinks she’s been pretty good this whole trip. 

But she is going to bully the _hell_ out of Fitzroy for making his alias _Roy_. 

\---

Hours later, Higglemas is enjoying some light reading on the couch of his apartment when he hears a solid, singular knock on the door. Curious, he sets his book down and looks through the peephole. Immediately, he is greeted with a section of a green button-up shirt, and he knows who it is without a doubt in his mind. 

“Bud!” Higglemas greets with a smile, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

For the most part, the Thundermen have left the Wiggenstaff brothers alone, since their heated discussion the night of their arrival. But, after his talk with Fitzroy, he figured things were better left where they were than to try and push any matters further. So it _is_ surprising to see the Firbolg standing in front of his door. 

Especially when he looks so...uncomfortable. 

“Can you and...your brother come to the a-part-ment?” The Firbolg asks. “We need...to have meeting.” 

“Meeting? About what?” Higglemas asks. The Firbolg looks to his apartment and then back to him. “You...will see.” And with that, he turns and walks back, leaving Higglemas to awkwardly shut the door and turn back to the living room. 

They need to have a meeting? With both of them? What on Nua for? 

Still, the Firbolg would only ever be this curt if it was important, so he sighs and walks over to one of the bedrooms. He carefully pushes the door open, noting his brother asleep on the bed. Well, at least this time it’s _on_ the bed, and not in a heap of blankets on the floor. 

Since returning to human form, Hieronymous has needed all the rest he can get. He sleeps whenever he can, and in whatever way possible. On the train, Higglemas had to keep him awake so they both wouldn’t fall asleep and miss their stops. But here he can sleep all he wants, and Higglemas would rather his brother get his strength back than to stay awake and entertain ol’ Higglemas. Sure, he _misses_ his brother, but this isn’t about _him_ right now. It’s about _him_ \--about Hieronymous. 

Still, if the Firbolg said they need them both, then he needs to wake him up. He carefully walks to the edge of the bed and nudges him gently. Hieronymous jerks awake, looking up at Higglemas with wide, terrified eyes. 

“Wh-whuh?” he mutters, still sleep-ridden. Higglemas frowns. 

“Sorry to wake you, but the boys said we need to have...some sort of meeting. They didn’t really specify, but I think it’s pretty serious.” Higglemas explains quietly, Hieronymous looking confused. 

“B-Boys?? I--wha, oh...r-righ’. Uh, I’ll be up in a moment.” he sits up slowly, stretching with a long yawn. His bones pop into place--a sign of age that Higglemas cringes at--and he yawns again. Higglemas leaves the room to give his brother time to wake up, returning to the couch. He looks at his book and tries to pick up where he left off, but his mind is buzzing with thoughts once more. 

It isn’t fair that Hieronymous should suffer with the ailments of age when he spent so many years barred from humanity. Higglemas’s bones can crack and ache all they want, but he at least had the ability to live his life. Hieronymous wasn’t given that luxury, and every day the younger brother wishes he could ease his older brother’s pains. 

He sighs, closing his book and resting it on the end table, looking up when the door to Hieronymous’s room opens. He changed into a plain long-sleeved shirt and pants, but he’s still wearing his slippers. Higglemas snickers to himself and stands, walking over to his brother. 

“You ready to see what’s going on?” he asks. Hieronymous yawns again, looking down at his brother with a tired smile. 

“Yes, let’s see what kind of trouble they’ve gotten into now,” he replies. 

They leave their apartment and walk the two feet it takes to get to the Thundermen’s apartment, and even from outside they can tell something is wrong. A number of voices that _aren’t_ the resident three bounce off of each other in a muffled cacophony, and the brothers look to themselves warily before Higglemas opens the door. 

“Ah, there they are!” Fitzroy calls out, sounding less enthusiastic and more crazed. “Come on, come on, we have _plenty_ to discuss.” Higglemas looks from the half-elf to the number of eyes looking at the two, noting almost immediately the presence of Leon. Leon looks at him like he’s seen a ghost before training his gaze on anywhere that isn’t him. He also recognizes Buckminster, son of the Iron Lord, and Rainer Michelle, daughter to the Undying Lord. Rolandus, son of the deposed King Fontaine, sits beside Argo on the couch. The final two women--only one of them Higglemas recognizes, since her name was in the papers after the demon attack on Last Hope, as Rhodes Vonnity--look up at them with bewildered expressions. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Rhodes says, pointing at the brothers. “They’re supposed to be at the _school_ , right? How is it still running with them _here_?” Fitzroy snaps and points at Rhodes, smiling with manic glee. 

“You’d think that, right? But _no_ ! That’s actually a _great_ story, you should tell it again, Higglemas!” Higglemas feels a stress headache forming already and he looks unamused at the barbarian. 

“Can we _please_ not start this again?” he asks flatly. Argo looks over to Fitzroy and then back to the former headmaster, sheepish. 

“Sorry, I think he’s completely lost it,” is all he has to say to explain Fitzroy’s...Fitzroy-ness. Fitzroy glares at Argo, but it lasts only a moment before he looks back at the brothers. 

“No, seriously, you _need_ to explain what is going on because I _could_ but there is no guarantee I would not make you out to sound like total _dickbags_ .” Fitzroy reiterates, looking expectant. Higglemas sighs but knows, deep down, that Fitzroy is right. These six students ended up here for _some_ reason, and it may have something to do with why the brothers fled in the first place. 

“To make a long, long, _very_ long story short,” Higglemas begins, walking over so he can sit down on a chair. “Fifty years ago, the Godscar Chasm showed up, along with a Demon Prince who is currently disguised as my brother and is running the school. The reason I could never be present on campus is because the _real_ Hieronymous,” he gestures to his brother, who is now standing beside him awkwardly, “was turned into a _dog_ \--once again, _very_ long story--and would have been _killed_ by the Demon Prince if I didn’t keep him with me in my warded office. The Thundermen were brought in on this information when Master Firbolg was struggling with the magically-implanted gaps in his memory--put there by me so he would not reveal this information to someone who may be in cahoots with the Demon Prince. The Demon Prince found out about their involvement during their last world assignment, and he sent demons to the town to...I honestly don’t know if it was to kill them or just bring them back, but that brings it back to…” he gestures to Fitzroy, who takes the cue in stride and finishes: 

“Us escaping the demon fight on pegasi, deciding to fake our deaths so the demons wouldn’t follow us, travelling three weeks on foot to Dust Field, and starting new lives under new identities!” Silence follows the end of the explanation, prompting Fitzroy to say, “Any questions? Comments? Feedback? Inquiries? Wait, those are the same words, aren’t they.” 

“Pretty much.” Hieronymous replies. 

“ _Wait_ ,” Rainer says, hands up as her face remains scrunched in serious thinking. “So, the _real_ Hieronymous was never running the school because he was a _dog_ this whole time--” 

“--You got it so far,” Higglemas chimes in.

“--And the Hieronymous _we’ve_ known is actually a _Demon Prince_ who’s just...cosplaying as an old elven man for funsises?” 

“No, he--” Hieronymous starts, taking a second to snort at what Rainer just said before continuing. “We had fought in countless battles before our...last, and he was always insistent on having his last great battle between the two of us. But, because of the spell my brother cast on me to save my life, he could no longer find me. In my absence and Higglemas’s forced seclusion, he was easily able to take my place and infect chaos and disorder through the school. He’s kept up the position simply to...wait me out, I guess.” 

“So then how did you escape?” Buckminster asks, strangely enraptured by this tale. 

“ _Good. Question_ .” Fitzroy jumps in, turning towards Higglemas once more with that nearly-crazed-nearly-enraged smile. “Why don’t you explain to everyone how you lied to not _only_ me, but to Argo, _and_ the Firbolg, _and Leon_!” At his name, Leon startles, the group (minus the Thundermen and the Wiggenstaff’s) all turning to look at him with surprise. 

“Me?? Wh-What do y’mean by that?” Leon blurts out, face red. Rainer looks at him with a certain level of hurt. 

“I _knew_ something was up,” she mutters, loud enough for the fighter to hear. He reacts with a deep frown as she turns away from him. “What is Fitzroy talking about, Higglemas?” Higglemas looks at the necromancer, then back to his close companion, and feels even _more_ guilt press upon his shoulders. 

“Well, months ago, Leon came to me with some...suspicions. He felt as if he were being watched at night, and that certain faculty seemed to have their own ulterior motives when walking about school. He even expressed some innate distrust in the headmaster--which, as you now know, he was right in feeling. So, knowing his heart to be true, I...told him everything. And then I swore him to secrecy and turned him into a hawk.” The group gasps as Leon tries to make his massive frame smaller and smaller. “The, uh, the time he was ‘away’, I...and, Buckminster, know that I am truly, _deeply_ sorry for this. But I had your memory wiped and implanted with the idea that you _knew_ he was going away for a few months, so you wouldn’t worry after him and cause a ruckus that the Demon Prince could pick up on.” Buckminster, for his part, looks as shocked to be hearing this information as he is realizing it is true (Higglemas finally lifting the spell on his memory). 

“I-I…” the rogue looks to Leon, expression hurt. “You lied to me? Me? Your brother-from-another-mother-and-father?” Leon cringes but ultimately nods. 

“I-It was for your own good! That’s what I was always looking out for!” Leon says, but Buckminster looks like he doesn’t entirely believe him. “If more students were let in on this information, we could have all been seriously hurt! And I mean _all_ of us--in the know or _not_.” 

“Yes, but that’s not all,” Higglemas says, drawing attention back to him before Fitzroy could forcibly move conversation back to it. “When I told the Thundermen, I then assigned them the centaur mission with the one goal of retrieving the magic apple the two camps were fighting over.” Rhodes looks shocked to hear _this_ information, looking at him in disbelief. 

“Wait, you _wanted_ them to fight?” she asks, to which Higglemas shakes his head. 

“It was never my desire for them to break out into an all-out war, but I _needed_ the apple for a spell because the tree was created with the Demon Prince’s magic to ensure disorder amongst the centaurs.” 

“And _what_ spell did you need it for, as a reminder?” Fitzroy chimes in again--ever the unlovable brat. 

“It was...I had told the Thundermen that it was a spell to change myself, my brother, and Leon back to our original forms. But I...lied because I did not want them to know that I actually needed it for a spell so my brother and I could escape. When they got the apple, the Demon Prince was alerted to their involvement somehow and sent demons out to--once again, not sure if it was to capture or kill, but it was one of those. I believe how the rest of the story goes is they escaped, faked their deaths using Leon’s help to return the apple to me, and they fled to safer grounds while I concocted both potions to return us to normal and to cloak my brother and I. Leon,” he turns to the human, “you...never told us the letter was a _lie_. I believed, up until the day we arrived here, that the three of them were dead because of my actions. Why…?”

“Yeah, I’d _really_ like to know why,” Rainer repeats, sounding angrier than anyone’s heard from her before. “Because, the last _I_ checked, we spent the last two months in _mourning_ ‘cause we thought our friends died, then in _paranoia_ ‘cause we _found out_ they weren’t dead by breaking into their dorm and contacting the Astral Plane. Which--lemme add--I could have _easily_ died there, figuring I’m a necromancer and that domain is ruled by _The Raven Queen, Notorious Hater of Necromancy_ . _Then_ , we went on this mad dash through the _woods_ for three weeks--hoping and praying our hunches were correct and they were _alive_ \--and you just...could’ve said something! This whole time! So, uhhhhhh, what the fuck is up with that, you fucking traitor!” Leon takes the brunt of her scorn with a stoic expression, but after hearing the word “traitor” he snaps. 

“I wasn’t given much of a _choice_ , okay?” Leon shouts, breaking his usual quiet demeanor to address the crowd. “I grew up with the understanding that an _oath_ is an _oath_ , and a _promise_ is a _promise_ . When Higglemas explained his situation to me, I was given the opportunity to swear an oath of secrecy to save those I love the most. And I _took_ it because I felt it was the right thing to do! T-Then!! When Fitzroy summoned me to the campsite that night, he asked me to ensure that everyone knew they were dead! And I _promised_ him that I would because I could see the kind of danger they were in, and I knew that alerting Higglemas to their whereabouts might somehow trickle out. So _yes_ , Rainer, I did a _lot_ of fucking lying recently--which I _hate_ , might I add. But I did it out of _principle_ and to _keep you fucking idiots safe_ . And I will _not_ apologize for that.” He pants for a few seconds while the room remains silent, each person unsure where to look or how to feel. 

“...Alright, I’m gonna call a meetin’ adjourned ‘cause I’m sick of this,” Argo says at last. “Everyone’s all caught up, right? Demon Prince headmaster, fakin’ our deaths, Leon was a bird for a while...Can we all just pack it up now?” Higglemas, on his end, could not be _happier_ with that suggestion. 

“Anything else we need to discuss we can do tomorrow, if need be.” The younger Wiggenstaff adds on. “Judging by the looks on most of your faces, I’m going to say this has been a bit of a _long day_ , and we aren’t going to get much of anywhere in terms of discussion if everyone’s so tired they’re screaming at each other.” The assorted students all look around at one another and nod, some looking a bit embarrassed while others look plain exhausted. “We live _literally_ right next door, so if any of you need space to rest that is an option.” 

“Hold on,” Leon pipes up once more, “I just have one question I _think_ is pretty important that we answer….What do we do now? Like, now that we’re all _here_ , and a Demon Prince is still running the school we all escaped from?” That...is a question Higglemas isn’t sure he can answer, so he remains silent. Everyone else seems at a loss for words, until a low, rumbling voice says: 

“There is, uh...big. Party on Saturday at the...barn,” says the Firbolg. “Maybe we...attend, have some fun, forget, then...we go back to being ser-i-ous.” 

Huh. Higglemas didn’t know there was a party soon. 

“Y’know what? For now, I’m gonna put a ‘maybe’ on the barn party plan because I _am_ actually incredibly tired so I’m kicking you all out.” Fitzroy says, somehow lightening the mood a bit with his pushy demands as he gathers up blankets and pillows for the students to use. 

At the end of it, Leon, Buckminster, and Rolandus end up coming back with the Wiggenstaff’s to rest; while the rest are situated with the Thundermen. When everyone is settled in for the night, Higglemas retrieves his book from the living room and retires to his bedroom. 

He reads a sentence before slipping off to familiar, restless slumber. 

\---

Fitzroy feels physically, emotionally, and existentially exhausted by the time he makes it to his room that night. He undresses and redresses in a haze, and flops onto his neatly-made bed before realizing...his bed _wasn’t_ neatly made when he left for work this morning. 

Confused, he props himself up and looks around, noticing how the whole room is...strangely spotless. Could it have been one of the others? Maybe Argo, in a stress-ridden cleaning spree? It doesn’t seem likely because the place doesn’t smell strongly of citrus. He gets up from the bed, ready to go out and find the secret cleaning-person, when an oddity catches his eye. 

On the bed, right where Fitzroy was laying, is an envelope. 

The room feels as if it drops twenty degrees in a second. 

Cautiously, he approaches the letter and picks it up, noting the elegant calligraphy addressing the envelope to: _Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt_. He turns the envelope over and notices the grey wax seal keeping the contents contained. 

The wax seal is the crest of Hieronymous Wiggenstaff’s School for Heroism and Villainy. 

Without a word, he carefully breaks the seal and opens the envelope, ignoring the ice prickling along his spine to pull out the letter contained inside. 

The letter reads: 

_To Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Knight in Absentia of the Realm of Goodcastle_

_or_

_To Roy Fitzgerald, Carpenter and Local Hero of Dust Field_

_(whichever title you prefer),_

_Good evening, Fitzroy! Or would you prefer your other name? Well, I cannot exactly ask for your opinion (since this is a letter), so I will refer to you as I knew you._

_But do you know me? In a sense, yes, but I was not able to formally introduce myself the last time we talked. And, since you avoided my underlings when they came to retrieve you from Bloodhawk Barb’s bar, I have not seen you since! So, in this letter, I shall_ finally _put a name to a face._

_I am called many things by many beings across Nua, but you can call Grey. Demon Prince Grey._

_I have to say, Fitzroy, you’ve excelled at keeping your presence hidden from me for this long! If you were any other person, I would have come to you myself and killed you immediately. But, since you are so important, I decided to write you this letter instead. You see, if you had only come back to the school when I fetched for you, you would have known all along just how_ special _you are._

_Now I know what you may be thinking: what is this all about, Grey? Why are you writing me such a well-put, thorough, and aesthetically pleasing letter?_

_To put it simply, I need you back. This is not a plea, nor is it a request._

_You may not realize this, but we share a commonality in where our powers stem from. That’s right, Fitzroy. You’re not the only one in cahoots with Chaos. Chaos has made it_ very _clear to me just how special you are to them, and they have instructed me to ensure your safety at all costs. If you need a light jogging of your memory as to_ how _dedicated I am to this task; do you remember Calhain? Well, you’re about one of the few people who do, at this point!_

_He was not meant to curse you. I made sure he was punished, according to my instructions._

_So, you can clearly see how_ difficult _it has been to ensure your health and safety when I had no idea where you were! This was a circumstance I had not prepared for, and I was_ very _upset when I had to inform our shared deity that you were missing. This letter is merely a means of requesting your presence back at the school._

_Oh, and did I mention this is not a request?_

_I will set the terms out plainly for you: if you do not leave the parameters of Dust Field by the first rays of light on Sunday morning (I gave you some leeway, in case you are considering going to that “barn party” I heard you discussing earlier), I will kill a single student for every day you delay. And when I say “kill”--trust me, I will_ maim _and_ torture _them until all they are aware of in their final moments is_ pain _and_ misery _. Then, I will scatter their remains in your dorm room; so when you finally return home, you can see firsthand what denying me my wishes can do to those you love._

 _And if you decide to tear this letter up? Or perhaps burn it or throw it away? Well, then I will turn my attention to your loving mother, who has recently arrived at the school looking for_ you _! Your remains, rather, but if you deny me then it won’t be_ your _remains she’ll be needing to worry about any longer._

 _Once again, this is_ not _a request. I have been put off and ignored for far too long by you and your cohorts, Fitzroy. I do not care if you come alone or with others--the fates of your friends mean nothing to me, so long as you do what I say. You may choose to tell them of this letter or to tell them nothing. Whatever suits you and your interests is fine by me._

_I hope this letter reaches you in good health and spirits! And I will be seeing you soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Grey_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I never would've thought that  
>  Feelings could get thrown in the air  
> 'Cause I accidentally caught that  
> I need some new boxing gloves_
> 
> A shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAHHHH I'M BACK SO EARLY WITH THE NEXT CHAPTER!!! well, in terms of Days i am early. in terms of time? lets just say i've been writing for like 14 hours dear jesus christ please help me i can't feel my body anymore :-) that being said!! because of the time of night and quick turnaround of chapters, i will not be posting fanart roundups for this chapter!!! i may edit them in in the morning, but as of right now i Just Want The Chapter Out 
> 
> i have been sitting on the ideas for this chapter for Months, so needless to say i was a bit excited about getting it out there. that being said!!! i did just start my spring semester this week, so i will likely be another month or so before i get the next chapter out. i just wanted to make this one while i still had the energy from writing chap 8 
> 
> the lyrics in this chapter's summary are from IFHY by Tyler, the Creator. the lyrics from the Fic Summary are from PartyIsntOver/Campfire/Bimmer by Tyler, the Creator. i HIGHLY RECOMMEND you listen to both of these songs as you're reading the barn party section--specifically in the order of PartyIsntOver/Campfire/Bimmer and then IFHY. IFHY works more for the last two scenes, and you'll see why :-) those two songs have basically been the anthem of this entire fic and i am SO happy they can finally be incorporated
> 
> also!!! if you are looking for me on tumblr @lesbian--susie, that url has recently changed!!! go follow @fitzroythecreator for the same silly as normal :-3 
> 
> welp. that's all i have to say for now other than: if u see an error, no you dont <3 also, have fun!!!!! 
> 
> enjoy!

That night, Argo has trouble sleeping. His mind is a restless sea, churning with regrets and confusion. This entire day has felt like some sort of strange fever-dream--starting with questions and ending with no answers. He stares up at the ceiling and watches the fan spin, ears attuned to the sounds of the apartment around him. To his right (in the other twin bed) is Rainer, making very little noise. On the floor he can hear Rhodes turn in her sleeping bag (which she was strangely okay with sleeping in for the night). He can hear the chainsaw rip of the Firbolg’s snore outside his door, along with the added much quieter snore of Zana. He can’t really make out any noise from Fitzroy’s room; but, given the distance between the two rooms and the fact that Fitzroy more _trances_ than he does sleeps, he’s used to that. With the whole apartment gone to rest, it leaves Argo with plenty of time to self-reflect. 

But he finds he _can’t_ \--not after everything that’s happened recently. He wishes more than anything that everyone could just _forget_ these past three weeks ever happened, but there is no escaping the reality that is his life. He wonders briefly if maybe _this_ was the punishment that Chaos character had in store because he didn’t cooperate. Not just the nightmare and the whole “waking up in a cold shower” business, but the colder, _harder_ reality that he is going to lose everyone he loves since he didn’t bend to the deity’s will. 

He pushes that thought away for the moment. Argo has no proof that Chaos even _exists_ or if they were just a representation of a myriad of mental problems the genasi has been struggling with recently. It isn’t exactly a soundproof argument--as it calls into question why “Chaos” knows where Fitzroy’s powers come from when even the half-elf doesn’t know--but it eases his mind enough to set the idea aside. Leaving him stuck in the present, rejecting his past, and absently wondering where it all went wrong in the convergence. 

“Can’t sleep?” Argo turns his head at the whisper and sees Rainer facing him. She’s smiling but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which are deeply exhausted. Argo peers down at Rhodes to make sure she’s still asleep, then looks back up at Rainer with a tired smile of his own. 

“Yeah. You too?” He whispers back, Rainer nodding in response. 

“I thought I would be, like, _so_ happy to be in a normal bed.” She laughs softly at her own joke, but it quickly dies as she returns to her exhausted state. “But after our talk tonight? I dunno, man. I just feel...weird.” Argo nods, laughing softly to himself. 

“Yeah, yeah...tonight was _strange_ ,” Argo mutters. “Not that it isn’t great to see you all! B-But it just wasn’t...y’know, like--”

“--Planned?” Rainer finishes with a knowing look. “We figured _that_ , Argo. But we had to know! It’s not like we could just sit there and be like, ‘welp, they’re dead I guess. Even if we have proof that they’re not, we certainly aren’t gonna go out there and find out for ourselves!’ You’re our friends! We were worried! We _missed_ you!” Rainer’s voice picks up a bit at the end, but she catches herself before she can get any louder. Argo is grateful for the necromancer’s enthusiasm; it makes his heart warm in a way he hasn’t felt in a bit. 

“We missed y’all too!” He replies, “Or--well, _I_ missed you guys! I can’t exactly speak for both the Firby and Fitzroy, but, uh, yeah!” 

“Don’t you mean ‘Bud’ and ‘Roy’?” Rainer says teasingly, to which Argo rolls his eyes. “Seriously though, _Roy_ ?? Fucking _Roy_ ?? He thought that was a _good alias_ when his name is fucking _Fitzroy_?” 

“To be fair, we were _kinda_ delirious when we decided on our names,” Argo replies. “I guess Roy Fitzgerald ain’t the best alias when yer name is so similar, but it was late and we were tired--” 

“--He made his last name _Fitzgerald_ !?!” Rainer cuts him off, having to slap both hands over her mouth to stifle the laughter bubbling from her chest. “Please don’t tell me your name is that bad. Please. Like, Aaron is _okay_ , but please tell me your last name doesn’t contain some part of your actual name.” Silence follows. Rainer looks at Argo incredulously. “Argo. Please. _Please_.” 

“...Okay so it’s Aaron Kennedy but in my _defense_ \--” he isn’t able to finish his sentence before Rainer starts laughing again, grabbing a pillow and smooshing it to her face so she can muffle her laughter. Argo feels his face grow hot with embarrassment, but he chooses to laugh it off. “If it makes me look any better, Fitzroy came up with the first part.” 

“Of _course_ he did!” Rainer whisper-screams, Argo having to shush her so she doesn’t get any louder. “Oh my gods...oh my _gods_ that was funny. You people are so stupid…” Argo guffaws silently. 

“Hey! Nobody’s _recognized_ us here! I-I’d say our disguises have worked pretty darn well!” 

“Yeah, by the stroke of luck you managed to find the _one_ place where newspapers must not reach.” Rainer says. “Seriously, how the hell did no one get suspicious? Your faces were in, like, _every_ newspaper for over a month.” Argo’s surprised by this information; he expected some level of news coverage to be made about their disappearance, but for a whole _month_ ? Still, as he thinks back, he realizes he’s _never_ seen many people with newspapers around town. Even the early birds who stopped by the bar for breakfast rarely ever had newspapers--only the occasional local newspaper that always pertained to Meadowbrook and Dust Field. Most of the information spread around here is through word of mouth; mainly happening at Town Hall or in the bar. 

“They don’t really _have_ newspapers from out of town,” Argo says with a shrug. “This place is kinda separated from...everything…” As he thinks about it, the more he realized how lucky the Thundermen ended up. If they had picked a different town--hell, if they had picked _Meadowbrook_ \--there’s a possibility they may have had more trouble than anticipated. Here, the townsfolk seem willing to take anyone at face-value, without the need for detailed backstories or any sort of purpose. It’s like if a hostel were a town, but far friendlier. “It’s nice...I-I dunno what would’ve happened if we ended up anywhere else…” Rainer watches Argo’s expression for a moment. 

“You...You _really_ like it here, don’t you?” She says after a bit. Argo abandons his train of thought to look at her. Her face is soft, the darkness hiding the trace amounts of fear she holds with this realization. Argo laughs to himself sheepishly. 

“I... _Yeah_ , I, uh...I do,” Argo responds, turning away from Rainer to stare up at the ceiling again. She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, to the point where Argo assumes she’s fallen back asleep. Until he hears a sigh. 

“Would you...I--If you had a choice, would y…” Rainer starts, groaning a bit in frustration when she can’t get the words out correctly. “If. If given the choice, would you...ever go back?” Her voice gets quiet. “Not just to--to the school. I mean, like...to your old life? Is this it? Or...is it only temporary…?” 

It’s not the first time Argo’s heard this question, though it’s mostly come out of his own mouth when he’s staring at himself in the mirror. And even though he’s heard it before, it still comes as a shock to hear it come out of someone else’s mouth. 

Permanence. Identity. Here or There. The question is loaded and requires a level of emotional tact that Argo isn’t confident he has. 

A part of him says _absolutely_ . That there’s never been a place more fitting for him than Dust Field. That he’s never felt more of the same vivacious energy that he felt on the Mariah than in this town, working his job and spending time with his friends. It’s been difficult to care about the places he’s been since his mother, and this is the first time that he’s found he actually _cares_ about everything that goes on around here. He feels like a part of a greater machine--the soul of Dust Field lives in him, too, and he can feel kindred spirits all around him. 

But another part of him resists. Reminds him that things would be different if they knew who he _really_ was and the life he was running from. Tells him that they’d reject the true self, even if the false self is so similar that it’s sometimes hard to discern the two. Shows him memories of his time at school and how he thought he cared about that place as much as he cared about here. What’s the difference, then? Just go back, face your fears, take on the Demon Prince. Fucking _die_ for all the universe cares--it’s not like you matter anyway. 

**_It’s not like you ever mattered anyway._ **

“Argo?” Rainer asks, a bit louder than before. Argo startles, looking back at Rainer. She eyes him cautiously ( _pitifully_ ) and holds out a hand. “You okay?” Argo recovers quickly, waving off Rainer’s concern with a practiced smile. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. I just,” he pauses for a moment, unsure of what he wants to say. “I don’t...I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives, but I’m not too sure which is better…” He trails off, lost in thought for a moment before returning to reality. “What do you think? I--not to push the decision onto _you_ or anything, but I-I honestly _really_ don’t know.” The two make eye contact for another moment before Argo turns away, not comfortable in the silence. Rainer thinks, turning to stare at the ceiling as well, the two mirroring each other quite well. 

“Well, if you want _my_ opinion, then I _also_ don’t know what to tell you.” Rainer says. “It’s--I don’t know what your life has been like here? You could _tell_ me, but even then I didn’t _live_ it so...a-and I’m not in your head, either, so it’s. I…” she huffs in frustration. “Look, if you were going off _my_ opinion, I’d say come back. But that’s because I’m selfish and I miss _you_ and _Fitzroy_ and the _Firbolg_ , and I don’t know your friends here so I honestly don’t give a shit about them. B-But that’s if our circumstance wasn’t s-so fucking _weird_ , to the point where _I_ don’t even know where I’m gonna go! So, like, don’t listen to my opinion. Instead, listen to my _advice_ and then make your own opinion: what do you want? What are the things you want in life--not what _other_ people want for you, but what _you_ want for _yourself_ . And once you know _that_ , then decide which path suits you best. I...Argo, I wouldn’t blame you if you stayed here, but that decision is something you gotta make on your own.” Argo lays there in contemplation, the fan spinning endlessly above his head. The Firbolg continues to snore outside, Rhodes continues to turn in her sleeping bag on the floor. Rainer goes quiet once more. And Argo? 

Argo doesn’t know. 

“What if...what if I don’t know what I want?” It’s the first time he’s admitted this to himself, and his voice quivers with the weight of it. “I...I thought I _knew_ what I wanted, but it’s...I just want what _other people_ want.” 

Since a young age, Argo has been adept at being a part of a team. Not the integral member, mind you--just _a_ member. Being amongst a group, having other people to rely on and who rely on him, has always felt _right_ . Maybe it’s from his life at sea, maybe it’s from his own insecurities that manifested after his mother’s death. Maybe it’s just who he is! But there’s never been a moment where he’s felt... _independent_ . Even in the time he’s spent alone, there was always an ulterior motive that started with someone else. Him searching for the people who killed his mother was inspired by the bitterness and sorrow that the entire crew felt. Him going to Wiggenstaff’s and becoming a sidekick was brought on by the insistence of one of the murderous pirates that, “if y’have a problem, take it up with the man who _paid_ us t’do it.” His own independent decisions don’t even feel that independent when thinking in retrospect. And then he found the Thundermen, and he was back to being a part of a group. He never needed to make any big decisions on his own--the other two were always right there beside him with their own ideas and opinions. Even in Dust Field he works in the background! An integral part of bartending is in the companionship the bartender makes with their patrons; most of that involves being the wall they vent to so they can eventually come to the right decision. Argo...doesn’t have his own wants. Or, at least, he doesn’t _think_ he does. 

“What if my want is just to be there for someone? T-To have someone _else_ decide what it is I want. I don’t really feel like...I _have_ any wants that are truly my own. I-I usually just let other people do their thing and help out in any way I can, but...it doesn’t leave much room for your own things, y’know? A-And it’s not like I’m _unhappy_ with this--I’ve been doin’ it for so long that it’s the only way I can see myself happy! B-But, is that right? Am I...What am I _supposed_ to want? Is it _bad_ for me to just want someone to decide? I don’t know _how_ to want on my own, I think. I just want someone to...to want _me_ to want _them_. I-I like being a part of somethin’ greater than myself, but maybe that’s just because I don’t know what I’m supposed to be...I dunno, is anything I’m sayin’ making sense?” He waits for a moment, but no response comes. “Rainer?” Then, he turns over and sees her sound asleep, soft snores escaping as she lays perfectly still. 

Argo sighs, turns back to the ceiling, and closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t sleep. 

\---

That morning, the group convenes once more. Argo gets up early and starts making a big breakfast (having not slept much himself and needing the distraction), which slowly rouses the slumbering residents of the Thundermen’s apartment. Everyone looks an equal amount of exhausted and so not much is said while Argo cooks, but they do elect someone to go next door and wake up the others. The Wiggenstaff’s come in with large mugs of coffee, the three boys behind them looking in desperate need of their own cups o’ Joe. Once the coffee pot starts brewing, the group slowly begins to come to life. They decide to arrange all their seats in one big circle in the living room; Leon and Zana going over to the Wiggenstaff’s apartment to bring over some more dining chairs and their recliner (which Fitzroy is _very_ cross about their apartment not having). Eventually, the food is ready and laid out on the table for people to come and assemble their own plate. Stacks of steaming pancakes, fluffy eggs, crispy pieces of bacon, sizzling sausages, toast, and a big bowl of fruit salad draws the crowd to the table. 

With their breakfasts retrieved, everyone sits down and prepares to chat. On the couch sits Argo in between Buckminster and Rolandus. Next to Buckminster is Leon on a chair, sitting beside the Firbolg (who opted to sit on the ground). Next to Rolandus is the recliner, where Hieronymous dozes in and out--his brother at his side and making sure he doesn’t accidentally knock over his plate of food. Next to Higglemas is Rainer in her own chair, feeding strawberries to her little skeletons as well as Slithers (who Fitzroy decided to summon so everyone could say hello, before the snake took a particular liking to Rainer and decided to stick around). On the other side of her is Zana, scarfing down her food like a wild bear after hibernation, and Fitzroy sits at Zana’s side (much to his dismay, once he saw her eating habits). Next to Fitzroy is Rhodes, who is on the other side of the Firbolg, thus completing the circle. 

“Soooooo...where to begin?” Fitzroy says after a few minutes of awkwardly silent eating. “Do we--do we even have a reason to be having this meeting, or are we just having the world’s most awkward breakfast?” Rainer laughs to herself as Leon shrugs. 

“I mean, we should probably talk about some stuff, but uh--” Leon points nervously over to the recliner, where Hieronymous is out cold. “Should we talk while he’s...asleep?” Higglemas notices this and gently shakes his brother awake once more, who jolts to life with a snort. 

“Geez, he’s be’n in n’ out all morn’g,” Zana notes around a mouthful of bacon. “Is’he okay?” Hieronymous, for his part, looks embarrassed that he’s been noticed and begins to quietly pick at his food. Higglemas sighs, patting his brother good-naturedly on the shoulder as he goes on to explain: 

“He’s been having a bit of...trouble acclimating back to a proper sleep schedule.” 

“But don’t elves not need sleep?” Argo points out. 

“Yes, but it’s different because he wasn’t an _elf_ for a very long time. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed this with your own pets, but domesticated animals tend to sleep...a _lot_ . Like, most of the day. And, since I couldn’t exactly take my fucking brother on _walks_ , his...canine form became accustomed to plenty of sleep.” Higglemas clarifies. “There will eventually be a point where he’ll go back to meditating, but for now his brain is still processing the switch from animal to man.” 

“Wait, his brain was an _animal’s brain_?” Rolandus asks incredulously, to which Hieronymous shrinks further in his chair. Higglemas sighs (a little annoyed) and nods. 

“He--Look, I don’t really feel comfortable talking about my brother like he isn’t _right here_ , but to make a long explanation short: yes. This is precisely why the transition has been so difficult, and why it was so important that I change him back into an elf. The brain _has_ to change slightly to match the form, or else the organs wouldn’t know how to function in the new form. B-But if you let it go _too_ long, the brain will eventually just...forget it was ever anything else.” A shudder passes through him at the thought. “I--That’s all you need to know, okay? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He spares a particularly stern look over at Fitzroy--the one person he _knows_ won’t listen to him--who takes the instruction without protest. 

“Well, now that _that’s_ been solved, does anyone have any idea where to go from here?” Fitzroy asks again, clearly set off by something. Argo raises his hand awkwardly before he realizes how weird that was to do and then grabs a notebook from the floor by his feet. 

“I, uh--as the CCO of Thunderman LLC, I thought it would be smart to jot down a few notes from yesterday’s…meeting.” He flips opens the notebook and glances at his notes. “So what we covered from yesterday was how we got here. Demon Prince, the apple, faking deaths, Leon as a falcon, the Wiggenstaff’s...situation, and, uh, how the rest of you got here. Other than that, I marked _tension_ \--and this I put in big bold, underlined four times, just a-as big as possible. To really sorta _emphasize_ the, uh, _prevalence_ of that in our meeting.” Everyone looks around the room a mixture of awkward, embarrassed, and uneasy. 

Well, everyone but Buckminster, who looks oddly confident. 

“Yes, so why don’t we start there, hm?” Buckminster says in his usual bravado. “And I will be the first to breach so delicate a topic by saying: Leon!” At his name, Leon’s head rises and turns towards the rogue. “Leon, my dearest friend, my confidante, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother, my silly rabbit, I--” 

“--Does he call you his ‘silly rabbit’?” Rolandus asks Leon, who looks equally as shocked and confused as the paladin. 

“ _No_!” Leon replies. 

“--AHEM! As I was _saying_ , Leon...I forgive you.” Leon looks at Buckminster, not expecting this was where he was going. “For everything. For lying to me, for lying to _everyone_ \--all of it. And I forgive Higglemas, too, for implanting the memory of where you were! I forgive you both!” 

“W-What?” Leon’s voice is soft and so it is nearly drowned out in the uproar Buckminster’s declaration brings. But Buckminster is confident--as always--and summons the group’s attention once more before turning back to his first friend with a kinder smile. 

“I had trouble sleeping last night because of...all of _this_ ,” Buckminster gestures to the group at large, “so I had a lot of time to think! And...And as I was laying there and thinking, I realized...it doesn’t matter.” He turns back to the rest of the group, gesturing with both arms spread wide. “None of what we’re mad about fucking _matters_ ! We can’t go _back_ and change what’s already come to be! So why sit here and be mad with each other about decisions we have _no way_ to change? All it’s going to do is wedge divides that don’t need to be there! Take Higglemas,” he points at the elf, “sure, should he have told the Thundermen the truth about the apple? Yes! Of course! _But_ he didn’t, and there isn’t a darned thing any of us sitting here can do about that. So why do you, Fitzroy, continue to press the issue?” 

“Because it’s a testament to his character, which is a nice way of saying I don’t trust him and I don’t think anyone else should either,” Fitzroy replies immediately, not amused by his friend’s antics. This only spurs Buckminster to life again, pointing at Fitzroy excitedly like he’s discovered something. 

“But couldn’t the same be said for _your_ character? You made Leon lie about the truth of your whereabouts for your own benefit,” 

“We could’ve been _killed_ by _demons_ , is that part not getting through to you?” Fitzroy counters. 

“Sure, sure, that’s a reason! And I’m not here to argue the validity of your reasons for lying versus _Higglemas’s_ reasons for lying. All I’m trying to point out is _why_ does it matter _now_ , when the lying and deceiving have already happened? You’re living here under an _alias_ ; it’s not like you’re free from critique.” Fitzroy opens his mouth to say more, but finds he’s a bit...stumped. Buckminster takes this win in stride. “And _Rainer_ ,” now he gestures to the necromancer, who points at herself innocently. 

“Who, me?” Rainer asks, to which Buckminster laughs. 

“No, the person standing _behind you_ with the exact same name.” He teases, causing Rainer to snicker. “Now, you are one hundred percent justified in being upset that Leon lied. Th-That he knew all along that the Thundermen were alive, and thus could’ve saved us a lot of time trying to find justification for our hunch. But why does that matter _now_ , when the Thundermen are sitting in front of us, safe and sound? Why does _any_ of this back-and-forth matter when, at the end of it, we’re still going to be _here_ \--in a desert town, away from the school that’s being run by a _demon prince_.” He finishes his speech in one breath, leaving him panting and a little red in the face. 

But his speech ripples through the gathered people as they realize...he’s sorta _right_ . Buckminster Eden, son of the Iron Lord and world’s stupidest man, is actually _right_ for once. Which is bad for his already tremendous ego, but good for everyone to realize how ridiculous they’ve been. 

(Everyone except for Fitzroy, who just looks a bit uncomfortable.) 

“You’re right…” Rainer mutters, looking a bit sheepish as she turns to face Leon. “I-I’m sorry for going so hard on you, yesterday. I was just...I dunno, scared? Angry? I was a lot of things yesterday, but I think ‘paranoid’ might’ve been the biggest one. And it was scary to think that someone I trust _so much_ would betray me like that. B-But you had your reasons and I should’ve respected that…” 

“No, you’re right,” Leon shakes his head firmly, “I-I _should’ve_ been honest with you guys, and you were right to be mad! B-But I didn’t know what it’d mean if I let you guys in on the secret because, like--I didn’t know where the Thundermen went! They _could’ve_ died, for all I knew! A-All I knew was that they were going _somewhere_ and that I had to bring the apple back. So...So I was still pretty in the dark on the whole thing, but Buck is right! We shouldn’t let all these past problems affect how we address our current situation. I accept your apology, Rainer, and give you one of my own at the same time.” The two share an understanding smile, nodding quietly to themselves. After this, the tension present in the room begins to settle, as everyone shares silent looks of agreement to let the past lie. 

The only two who don’t make eye contact are Argo and Fitzroy, each lost in their own head about lies and the past. 

“Okay, with that all settled, what’s next?” Rhodes asks after a few minutes. “We’re still, like...here. What’s the next step?” Rainer thinks this over, hand on her chin in contemplation. 

“We should probably send some sort of correspondence back to Althea, letting her know that everything’s chill,” the necromancer offers. Fitzroy looks at her with intrigue. 

“Althea? You mean Althea _Song_?” he asks. Rainer nods. 

“Yep! The one who was going around school before y’all ‘died’, and now she leads the H.O.G. investigation on the school.” Fitzroy continues to look at her strangely, so she continues. “We had no way of getting out here if it wasn’t for her! Rhodes let her know what we suspected--after we realized you guys were probably not dead--and she snuck us out of the school and brought us to the campsite you guys were at. From there, Rhodes picked up your trail and did some _baller_ -ass ranger shit that brought us here! But, y’know, I’m assuming Althea was gonna wanna _know_ when we found you.” 

“But how the hell are we going to get a letter into _that_ hellhole-- _literally_ .” Rolandus brings up. “We were lucky we even got _out_ ; do you think they’d let a letter go through from six students who are _supposed_ to be at school to the _lead investigator_ without reviewing it first?” 

“We could always write it in code?” Zana offers with a shrug. “I know Infernal, so I could always draft it and write a decoder on the back.” 

“If it’s on the back then anyone reviewing the letter would see it.” Higglemas replies, to which Zana sighs. 

“Welp, that’s all I got. Anyone else?” Zana asks, scanning the circle. 

“Maybe _I_ could fly it in?” Leon mentions, looking a bit nervous about mentioning it. “I...can still turn into a falcon at will, so it shouldn’t be too hard. It’s probably about a day’s worth of flying roundtrip, I figure from the distance we traveled on foot.” Argo turns and looks at Leon in surprise. 

“Wait--you can _still_ turn into a falcon?” the genasi asks. Leon laughs and nods. 

“I’ve done it a few times since the Big Switch just to keep the instinct loose, but yeah! I should be fine for a day’s worth of flying, right, Higglemas?” The former headmaster considers it for a moment, looking like he’s doing some sort of calculations in his head. 

“So long as you remain focused, there shouldn’t be an issue with you being a falcon for a day. You just have to remember to _focus_ on it--my spell kept you locked in animal form with no ability to change back to prevent you from dropping focus mid-flight. Just--be careful, alright?” He looks over at the fighter, who nods with confidence. 

“So we get a letter back to Althea via bird-or-mail, but then where does that leave us _here_ ?” Rhodes asks again, a bit more insistent. “I’m not sayin’ sending word back to Althea isn’t important, but it still doesn’t solve the problem we’re all in currently.” She looks at each of the Thundermen with pointed looks. “Like, what are _your_ plans?” Each of the Thundermen look a varying degree of alarm to being asked this question, but it’s Fitzroy who answers first. 

“We _can’t_ go back,” he says firmly. “And I’m not just talking about _we_ as in the Thunderman corporation. I’m talking, like--everyone _here_ cannot return to the school, save for the birdman over here. S-So whatever plan _you_ people decide on will determine what _we_ do, bu--but there’s _no turning back_.” His words are met with silence for a bone-chilling moment. 

“What...Hey, didn’t the Firbolg say something about a ‘barn party’? What the hell is up with that?” Rolandus asks, the Firbolg nodding firmly in response. 

“It...what it says it is. Is barn party. For….Fitz-roy.” The Firbolg explains, which makes pretty much everyone in the room look surprised. 

“Fitzroy? The hell he’d do?” Zana asks. Fitzroy thinks for a moment until he remembers something and snaps his fingers. 

“Is this because of that time I kicked the absolute _shit_ out of those bandits in Meadowbrook?” He asks the Firbolg, who nods in response. Fitzroy’s face scrunches up, confused. “Why are they throwing a party for _me_? Are they gonna give me a fuckin’ key to the town??” 

“Jenny...did not say. But I know it is for you be-cause I...am a proud member of the cit-i-zen’s planning committee!” The Firbolg proudly announces with a big grin. Rainer claps politely for him, making him flush. “This is...great a-chieve-ment. Thank you.” Zana nods to herself and points towards the Firbolg. 

“Alright, here’s the plan: we’re here to celebrate Fitzroy’s grand achievement of kicking some baddies’s asses, so people don’t question why we’re here. We take today to figure out what the hell we’re going to tell Althea, and then we party tomorrow. On Sundays there’s no mail, so Leon won’t be suspected when he flies back to the school. He finds Althea, delivers our message, gets one back from her, and comes back. From _there_ , we figure out whether we lay low here for some time or move elsewhere. That sound good to everyone?” The group agrees to Zana’s proposal, who smiles confidently to herself. “Alright. Meeting adjourned. Argo, I hope you got all that because I am _not_ repeating myself.” Argo sticks a thumbs up at the tiefling, furiously writing in his notebook with the other. Zana laughs to herself and looks to her right, seeing Rainer look at her with an awed expression. It brings a blush to Zana’s face immediately. “W-What? Do I have syrup on my face?” 

“You’re _hot_ when you’re right,” Rainer breathes out, unaware of her mouth voicing her thoughts. Zana flusters even more, jerking with enough force to send her toppling to the ground. Her plate clatters to the floor as Buckminster and Rolandus cackle at her, Rainer coming to and realizing what she’s done. “U-Um! I mean, wh-what I meant was--” 

“--We _all_ knew what you meant, Rainer.” Fitzroy says with a smirk, earning himself a pointed glare. Before he can register it, two skeletal squirrels jump out of Rainer’s chair and charge at him, sending him into movement. “Oh _fuck_ \--No!! _Rainer_!!” Fitzroy clambers out of his chair and dashes to his room, the skeletons trailing close behind. This causes the rest of the group to erupt in laughter. 

Everyone except for Hieronymous, who remains fast asleep. 

\---

After serving eleven people breakfast, Argo realizes they’re low on just about _everything_. So he decides to take the afternoon to run some errands, allowing himself time to be alone and think. He runs down to the community garden and gathers some fruits and vegetables, saying hello to a few of the patrons he recognizes from the bar. He converses with an older gentleman whom he’s become quite close for a few minutes, then wishes him a good day and hurries home with the produce. He organizes the produce into the fridge and then heads back out to the General Store. 

The store owner, a kindly old woman with light brown skin and completely grey hair, greets Argo with a wave as he enters the store. He waves back at the woman--knowing she’s partially mute--and expertly weaves through the cramped aisles to grab some more essentials. Canned beans, flour, sugar, spices, laundry detergent, and a number of other things are grabbed and thrown into Argo’s baskets. He goes up to the counter and smiles at the store owner, conversing with the woman’s daughter (a woman in her mid-thirties who helps her mother run the store) as he checks out. He says his goodbyes and heads out once more. 

It is on the way back to the apartment that his casual afternoon is interrupted. 

“Aaron! Hey, Aaron!” Argo is pulled from his pleasant daydream by an unfamiliar voice from behind. He turns and nearly drops his baskets when he sees a mop of blonde curls headed towards him. “W-Wait up! I...I gotta talk to you!” 

Immediately, Argo is on the defensive. Not that Wyatt’s done anything _wrong_ , necessarily, but he never really had any intentions on becoming buddy-buddy with the man who owns his love’s heart. But he still feels the need to be polite, so he waits as Wyatt runs over to where he’s standing. Wyatt reaches him within a minute, leaning over himself as he desperately tries to catch his breath. 

“H-Hey, it-- _fuck_ , h-hold o--Oh my _gods_ I need to work out--” Wyatt pants as Argo continues to eye him silently. Finally, the huskier man looks up at Argo, face significantly more red than usual. “Th-Thanks for waiting…” 

“It’s no problem,” Argo replies casually, adjusting the basket in the crook of his arm. “What’s up? Can it, like...can it wait? I have groceries.” Wyatt seems to register the baskets Argo is carrying in that moment and looks even more red than before. 

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry! I-I can take one of those for you? We, uh--I kinda wanna talk about this now that I got ya here. Uh, maybe we can go sit somewhere…?” He looks wildly around him for a second, settling on a point behind him. “Do you wanna sit at the statue? I _promise_ I won’t be that long, a-and I have a stasis spell if you got any frozen stuff on you!” Argo looks behind Wyatt at the statue inwardly cringing at the situational irony he’s found himself in. 

“Uh, sure…” Argo replies. Wyatt smiles and walks with the genasi over to the statue, sitting next to each other on its base. Wyatt spies a carton of ice cream in one of the baskets and quickly zaps it with a stasis spell before Argo can even ask. Argo notes this with a twitch of his eye. 

He can see why Fitzroy would fall in love with him. Unfortunately. 

“So...what’s up?” Argo starts, trying to keep himself looking casual as he regards the blonde. Wyatt looks incredibly nervous and glances around them for a moment before sighing. 

“Look, I--I don’t wanna _assume_ anything, but I...I just wanted to apologize?” This takes Argo by surprise. “I just--I dunno if it’s just my anxiety, but I feel like we got some beef? Between us? And so I wanted to, like, come out in front of it and try to...set things straight.” Wyatt looks at Argo for any sort of response and continues when he notices the genasi (for lack of a better word) floundering. “Y-You could tell me if I’m wrong, but...I have a feeling I’m not.” 

“No, it’s--” Argo starts before knowing what he wants to say. “I don’t--I don’t have a _problem_ with you.” He _doesn’t_ . Sure, he’s a bit jealous that Wyatt’s getting the attention from Fitzroy that _he_ wants, but he doesn’t really blame the fella for it. 

“Really? B-Because the vibes I’m getting from you are saying, like. A completely different thing,” Wyatt says with a nervous laugh. “I--You don’t have to say it! It’s fine! I think...Okay, _again_ , correct me if I’m wrong; but I think a lot of the weird air between us has to do with… last Friday… A-And, I--How do I say this?” He suddenly turns to face Argo directly, which catches the rogue’s eye. He looks suddenly very determined as he gently rests a hand on Argo’s knee and says: “You realize me and Roy... _aren’t_ a thing, right?” 

“What?” Argo responds on instinct as his brain stutters over that question. He suddenly feels _very_ exposed and begins to overcorrect. “I--Of course I did!! Know that. I-I--yeah! Wha--Why did you think that would matter? I’m _fine_ with Roy, we--it’s all good, honestly. I--” Wyatt holds up a hand and Argo’s mouth shuts. Then, the guy has the audacity to _laugh_. 

“It’s--You don’t have to beat around it, Aaron. I...have had my suspicions since that night that something might’ve been going on. A-And I’m not gonna say I know anything ‘cause I obviously _don’t_ , but...Roy and I were _never_ a thing! Like, never ever! So if that helps something on _your_ end then I’m glad to be of service. And if it _doesn’t_ then now you know! But, once again...I have a feeling I know what’s been going on.” 

“B-But, didn’t you two--” 

“--Kiss? Yeah, we kissed _once_ at the party.” Wyatt cuts him off with an embarrassed little chuckle. “And, like, he didn’t _want_ to. _I_ asked! B-Because I--I’m pretty sure you know but I had, like, a _major_ crush on Roy when he first got here. Which makes sense, y’know? He’s tall, handsome, _really_ strong, like--he’s got it goin’ for him. But I started to have some doubts as to whether I _really_ liked him after a while, or if I was just looking for someone to project my feelings for someone _else_ onto. I asked him to kiss me s-so I could know for _sure_ , but he--Aaron, he made it _very_ clear from the _beginning_ that he wasn’t interested in me.” Argo feels like he’s being doused in cold water with every sentence spoken, leaving him agape as the woodcarver continues his tale. 

“I honestly don’t know how I didn’t take the hint _sooner_ , but I’m dumb! What can I say? All I know is carving wood and card games, man. My grandpa always said I was a dull instrument,” he laughs to himself again. “But, like, after we kissed? I realized _immediately_ that there was no spark between us, a-and I’m not sure _how_ it got out that it happened. I-I dunno if _you_ saw it, or if Zephyr did? O-Or maybe somebody just _told_ you guys? But, either way, I think...I think might’ve accidentally gotten myself in the middle of something, so I just wanna make it clear that Roy is _not_ in my mind like that.” Argo sits there for a second, dumbfounded, as everything settles in his mind. 

“Oh…” Is all he can say, to which Wyatt snickers to himself. He reaches out and pats the genasi on the back encouragingly. 

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Wyatt repeats, “I’m not gonna tell you what you should _do_ with this information, but all I _am_ saying is that I hope this makes things between us good.” Argo suddenly looks at Wyatt, which startles the blonde. 

“But I don’t like him like that!” He blurts out. Wyatt stares at him for a pregnant pause, eyebrow quirked. Argo flusters under his gaze. “I--It’s not gonna happen, okay? Look, I appreciate this, but it’s...it’s too late. He doesn’t trust me anymore, a-and I’m...I’m _done_ trying to prove myself to him. I’ve fucked up a lot, but so has he and he doesn’t want to see that. H-He just sees how I’ve hurt him, and not how...not how _he_ hurt _me_ . I _want_ things to be okay with us! Believe me, I do! But I just _know him_ , and I know it ain’t gonna happen…” Argo looks away from Wyatt to blink back a few tears. He’s been feeling this way since Friday, but this is the first time he’s actually admitted to himself that it’s all over. Wyatt looks at him with a concerned frown and waits for the man to collect himself. 

“Look, I...I’m not expert in the ways of the heart _or_ mind, but I’d like to think I know a little bit about Roy at this point. So, _yeah_ , he’s a bit stubborn when it comes to his way versus anyone else. But, I--I _genuinely_ do not think he hates you. I think he... _thinks_ things to protect himself, a-and that doesn’t make it right _or_ good but it is what it is! There’s never been a moment in talking to him, though, that would _ever_ suggest any grudge he held against you was anything more than a petty defense mechanism. I think he needs some time to figure out his own shit, a-and if I’m honest? Like, Zephyr went and _apologized_ already, so any problems he has about last Friday are probably already leaving his mind.” 

“Wait--Zephyr apologized?” Argo asks, surprised. Wyatt nods. 

“Yeah, he stopped by Monday to clear the air, w-which is sorta what inspired me to find _you_ hehe…” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, a nervous flush spreading up his neck. “I thought he would’ve told you! He, like, came in and set things straight. I couldn’t hear _much_ of their conversation ‘cause I was in another room, but it sounded really...really heartfelt. Like they had a moment, y’know? And I know Lyra came in on Wednesday to talk to him, but I have _no_ idea what happened there because she--I think she enchanted the room? I couldn’t hear _shit_ , but when I came back in from my break, Roy looked a lot...calmer. Like some great weight was shoved off his shoulders finally and he could _breathe_ again.” Wyatt turns away from Aaron and stands up, facing him once more once he’s done so. 

“I’m not gonna say things are totally fine, nor am I trying to deny the very honest response you’re having to...all this,” Wyatt gestures vaguely around them both. “ _But_ , I will say that I think...Tomorrow is gonna be a good day for him. People will be congratulating him, thanking him, there’s gonna be a whole speech dedicated to his bravery, I _think_ Jenny made something for him? So, if there’s ever a day to pull him aside and be honest, it’s gonna be tomorrow. He’ll be in a good mood; he won’t immediately try and blow you off; and there’s gonna be booze and good food! You _literally_ can’t be mad at someone when Mrs. Torres’s cooking is in front of you.” He starts to take a step back, smiling at Argo genuinely. “Just consider it, okay? I gotta run--my house is a mess and the twins are coming over for dinner later--but I’ll catch you tomorrow!” And then, just like that, he runs off. 

Leaving Argo sitting under the statue, like all those days ago. 

He’s slow to get up, but eventually he does. His walk back to the apartment is slow--his mind strangely silent. He climbs up the steps, opens the door, and surveys the apartment. Rainer and Zana are painting each other’s nails at the table while Rhodes does yoga with the Firbolg in the living room. He can hear the shower running from his room, meaning one of the boys is in there. Leon is reading a book on the couch and looks up when Argo steps in. 

“Oh, hey Argo! How was the store?” Leon asks cheerily. Argo stares at him for a moment too long, eyes unblinking. But then he seems to realize what he’s been asked and returns to himself, turning towards the kitchen with his baskets.

“Uneventful.”

\---

Saturday morning arrives on the back of one Firbolg, carrying large wooden tables into the barn at Jenny’s instruction. Jenny watches the Firbolg’s movements from the makeshift stage she’s spent the last few days building, calling to him where to put the furniture. Lyra sits on the edge of the stage, watching this happen sleepily, mug of warm tea in her hand. 

“Aight...keep movin’...keep goin’...aaaand there! There, buddy! Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect!” Jenny calls as the Firbolg sets a table on the floor against the front wall of the barn. “Yeah, that’ll be perfect for people t’put their potluck dishes! Thanks!” The Firbolg wipes some sweat from his brow and gives the woman a thumbs-up. Lyra hums to herself from the stage, bringing her mug up to her lips. Jenny looks down at her wife and sighs lovingly, kneeling down so she’s closer to the changeling’s level. “And how is my beautiful, _wonderful_ wife doing on this fine morning~?” 

“Hmmmmmm good,” Lyra replies, looking up at Jenny with a fond smile. “Could use a kiss from my gorgeous, strong, _sexy_ wife, though.” Jenny laughs and leans in, pressing a single kiss to Lyra’s lips before standing back up. The changeling whines but doesn’t succeed in halting her lover’s incredible energy. Jenny hops off the stage and walks up to the Firbolg, Lyra following suit at a much slower pace. 

“Aight, I think...I think that’s it!” Jenny announces, looking around the barn with delight. 

Everything that usually is in a barn has been removed for the time being--the few animals that reside here being put in temporary pens out back. Leaving plenty of room for the festivities to come. A line of tables line the wall next to the entrance, where members of both communities will lay out dishes of mouth-watering food. A few high-top tables from the bar have been brought in, providing a place to eat within the building, by the left and right walls. The stage comes out of the back wall, a perfect place for music and ceremonial speeches. The rest of the barn has been cleared for the dance floor; where people can come mill about, socialize, and boogie the night away. There’s some more seating outside the barn, for people who may want to sit down to eat or enjoy the night, and a large disco ball hangs from a sturdy support beam. 

All in all, a pretty epic looking barn party. 

“It...looks good,” The Firbolg states with a proud smile, admiring the work he’s spent the last two weeks doing all around him. “I...am proud to be a member of the par-ty co-mmi-ttee…” Jenny looks up at the forest dweller with a fond smile, wrapping the big guy in a powerful hug that he reciprocates immediately. 

“Awww, Bud!! Yer gonna make me cry!! And I don’t wanna cry!!” Jenny wails out, a few tears springing to her eyes regardless. Lyra snorts and shakes her head fondly. 

“ _Yet_ . You don’t wanna cry _yet_ , honey.” She notes with a smirk. Jenny turns around and shoots her wife a glare. 

“Shut it,” Jenny pouts, but ends up letting it go herself as she steps away from the Firbolg. “So, we got it all done, team! The night is _all_ planned out--I got cross-county support on the whole speech and gift idea--and we got everything set! Now all we need to do is sit here...and wait…” Jenny says that last part as she sinks to the ground, finally letting the exhaustion of the few hours get to her. The Firbolg also decides to sit, causing Lyra to join suit. 

“So...do you think it will work?” The Firbolg asks after a moment. Jenny looks up from where she’s flopped herself onto the ground and tilts her head. “About...the two. Do you think this will...work?” Jenny thinks this over for a moment. 

“Well, I think it can’t hurt! And I’m sure as hell gonna _try_ and make them talk it out, but I...y’know I’d never lie to ya, Bud, so I honestly _don’t know_ what this’ll all do.” Jenny admits after a moment, the Firbolg nodding somberly along with her words. Lyra sips at her tea casually. 

“I think it will.” She admits plainly. The other two look at her, confused. “I think, after our conversation, Roy is thinking about things differently. And so I think he’s gonna say _something_ to Aaron about...well, about everything! And I think it’s gonna work out fine.” Jenny sighs dramatically at the mention of their conversation, leaning towards her wife to give her puppy-dog eyes. 

“Will you _please_ tell me what y’all talked about?” She asks. 

“Nope!” Lyra answers immediately, much to her wife’s dismay. “I told him I would keep it a secret, and I’m a woman of my word! But _trust me_ , it’s...it’s gonna happen, alright?” She looks from her wife to the Firbolg, off-white irises ablaze with determination. 

“Tonight’s the _night_ ,” 

\---

Back at the apartment, Fitzroy plugs his curling wand into the plug in the bathroom, maneuvering around Rainer to make sure the cord is long enough. 

At the prospect of a special event, Rainer asked Fitzroy to help her curl her hair. Her hair has grown out a bit since the last time he’s seen her, her brunette roots more evident atop her head. Fitzroy was glad to oblige--secretly missing the personal time with one of his favorite people--and so that’s how the two find themselves crammed into the half-elf’s half-bath. 

“Sooooooo, you look _different_ ,” Rainer sing-songs as Fitzroy brushes out the back of her hair. He looks down at the necromancer through the reflection in the mirror, holding the brush out. 

“You realize that I have all the power right now?” Fitzroy warns in jest. Rainer rolls her eyes, hand hovering over the “Release Creatures” button on her chair. Fitzroy immediately goes back to brushing. “To answer your _terribly_ worded question--yes, I look different because that’s kind of an important part of changing your identity.” 

“How would you know? What, are you some sorta elite spy now? You hidin’ something?” Rainer teases, earning herself a _healthy_ eye-roll. “No, but seriously, you look good! The rugged look really works for you, dude.” Fitzroy smiles at the compliment. 

“Why, thank you, thank you~” He preens. Rainer snorts and swats back at the barbarian, who responds with a yelp. “Hello!? Watch it! I’m about to be holding a very _hot_ piece of metal that’s going next to _your_ head!” Rainer settles down and Fitzroy huffs dramatically, grabbing for the curling wand and preparing the first piece of hair. 

“No, but you look good! Argo too--did you know he could rock the sexy bartender look so well? Like, I’ve _seen_ him a bit dressed up, but I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen that guy wear a pair of jeans until now.” At that, Fitzroy’s face suddenly...changes. He goes from casually listening to _pretending_ to be casually listening. A part of him even...cringes? Rainer watches this for a moment, letting the silence grow heavy between them. 

“Um, yes, I--he sure does look like a bartender…” Fitzroy awkwardly answers, finishing the first curl and immediately giving it a quick spray with hairspray. He starts on another piece, the silence getting more and more uncomfortable. 

“Something’s up with you two, isn’t there?” Rainer says at last, causing the half-elf to falter with his curl. He bumps his finger into the iron, hissing as he pulls that hand back. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to make ya freak out!” 

“I-I’m not _freaking out_ , I--shit,” he places the finger in his mouth for a moment to try and relieve the pain, “I just...why do you say that? We’re fine.” Rainer frowns and points accusingly at Fitzroy’s reflection. 

“Nope, nuh-uh, you’re not escaping the conversation just ‘cause you burned yourself.” Rainer insists, expression stern. “I may not have seen you in a grip, but I _know_ you, Fitzy. You take any opportunity to avoid conversations you don’t wanna have, and I’m not dealing with it. Something’s up and I’ve felt it since I got here. So you’re either gonna _tell_ me,” she pushes a button and two skeleton raccoons jump out of the back of her chair. Fitzroy squeaks and jumps away from them, watching them scurry over to the door and post up. “Or you can go through Sir Reginald V and Miss Poppyseed.” Fitzroy looks back at the wicked woman in front of him, exasperation ridden across his face. Rainer crosses her arms triumphantly. 

“F-Fucking-- _Fine_ ,” Fitzroy huffs, grabbing Rainer’s hair again to continue curling. At least he can busy his hands while he has this conversation. “I messed up, okay? I-I messed up and I don’t know how to fix it.” Rainer watches the frustrated face of her friend fall slightly, looking more desperate than irritated. 

“Elaborate,” Rainer replies. Fitzroy sighs as he finishes another curl, giving himself a few more strands to gather his thoughts. 

“I...A week ago, there was an event that...transpired that forced a rift between Argo and I. It--I place a pretty decent portion of the blame on a certain _third party member_ who had some choice words to say to me. But, most of it was...my fault.” His eyes unfocus for a moment, refocusing on a moment in the past. 

The cold wind against his stinging nose and drying tears, as he looked Argo in the face and basically told him he _hated_ him. 

“I reacted irrationally. I...believed the words of a third party over the words of my friend, and now I’m certain I no longer have that friend. He’s given me _so_ many chances, and every. Single. One of them I’ve _squandered_ because of--because of my own fears! And now I just...I know he could never forgive me. I thought it wouldn’t affect me that badly, but I just...It fucking _sucks_ to know there’s nothing you can do to bring someone back. He deserves better, anyway; you should see how many friends he’s made around here! H-He has a good head on his shoulders, and he doesn’t...need _me_ anymore…” He returns to reality, not realizing he’s been holding the brush in the air without doing anything. He quickly returns to his task and tries to act normal.

Rainer is quiet for a few minutes and lets Fitzroy do his thing. Eventually, she sighs, grabbing the half-elf’s attention. 

“You...That sucks, Fitz, I dunno what else to say. I don’t know if anything I say could make you feel any better, but I’ll just say from experience that you sitting here--feeling sorry for yourself--isn’t gonna make anything better. And you may _think_ that there’s nothing you can do, but there is! It may not be what you _want_ to do, but there’s always just...apologizing? Being _honest_ ? Look, I--I don’t need to know what happened to see how much it’s bothering you. But, from my perspective, I see two avenues: He either _hates you_ or he _doesn’t_ . If he hates you, then you sitting here doing nothing is not gonna change his mind. If he _doesn’t_ hate you, then you sitting here might actually _make_ him hate you. _But_ if you go up and apologize, talk things out, then those two avenues might end the same way. If he doesn’t hate you, then he’ll be relieved to know you care enough to apologize. And if he _does_ hate you, then you apologizing may make him hate you less! But you’re not gonna know _anything_ if you just sit here and mope!” Rainer concludes with a knowing smile. Fitzroy stands there for a moment, face expressionless. 

“So I just...be honest?” Fitzroy mutters, feeling the words of another echo through his mind. Rainer nods enthusiastically, her finished curls bobbing with the motion. 

“I know-- _super_ new concept for you, but I _highly_ recommend. Goes great with ‘being a good friend’ and ‘owning up to mistakes’!” Rainer teases which seems to be enough to bring Fitzroy out of his funk. He scoffs and shoots a mean look at her reflection. 

“Okay, o _kay_ , I get it. You’re preaching to the choir, _trust me_.” He says with a bit of a laugh, to which Rainer follows in suit. “Should I...should I wait? I don’t know if he’s really going to want to be around me, so do I just corner him today? Or do I give him space?” 

“I’d say just go for it today!” Rainer suggests, “You’ve waited like, what, a week already? No reason to delay it any further-- _especially_ if you feel like it’s only gonna get harder to bring up as time goes on. Plus, it’s a party setting, so things will be a bit looser and more relaxed! Give yourself a little bit of liquid courage before you get to him, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Fitzroy rolls his eyes good-humoredly as he finishes another curl. “And I think it’d be cute to see you two kiss and make up, so I wanna be around,” Fitzroy sputters at that, face getting a bit red. 

“R-Rainer, you--we aren’t a couple!” Rainer tilts her head quizzically. 

“Really? Are you _sure_?” 

“ _Very_!” 

“Aw, well, who knows! Maybe tonight will change things~” Rainer wiggles her shoulders suggestively as Fitzroy pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. 

“Well, how about I wager this? _I’ll_ be honest if _you’ll_ be honest with Zana.” Fitzroy suggests, an edge of mischief in his voice that Rainer reacts strongly to. Rainer looks around innocently, pointing at herself several times. 

“M-Me? Be honest with Zana? Whatever do you mean?” 

“Oh come _on_ , man. We all literally _watched you_ call her hot yesterday morning, and also I’ve _known_ about your crush on her _since I met you_.” Fitzroy says plainly, watching Rainer’s face steadily grow redder. 

“Wh--You take that back right now or I’m sicking the horde on you.” Rainer warns, but Fitzroy isn’t convinced. “I-I! _Fine_ , so I like her! So what!? Who wouldn’t, honestly!? She’s hot, and nice, and considerate, and funny, and she brings me a croissant whenever I’m up late the night before studying, a-and--fuck you, fuck you, don’t laugh at me!!!” Fitzroy covers his mouth with a hand as he laughs. “I-It’s not like she’d be _interested_ in me, anyway!” 

“Are you fucking _kidding me_ right now?” Fitzroy asks incredulously. “She literally _fell over_ when you called her hot! What kind of person would literally _fall out of their chair_ if they weren’t anything else but _into_ the person calling them hot!?” Rainer covers her face with both hands and screams a bit, Fitzroy’s laugh muffling most of the noise. 

“Okay, okay!! Fuck!! I’ll be honest if you’ll be honest, capiche?” Rainer cries out, sticking a hand up. Fitzroy smiles and grabs her hand, shaking on it. 

As scared as he is of agreeing to this, he lets the good spirits of the morning carry him through the day. Up until the point of…

\---

The party. 

People show up in droves once the time comes, carriages carrying groups of people from Meadowbrook coming into the little town every ten minutes. Though the party starts in the late afternoon, things are _immediately_ in full-swing. Turns out, gathering a bunch of rootin’ tootin’ cowfolk and giving them good food and good booze is a recipe for instant insanity. 

By the time the man of the hour arrives, dressed as to-the-nines as a rugged aesthetic can allow, there’s already a crowd of people both inside the barn and out. As soon as people start to spot him, though, the crowd turns on him--in a good way. Offering slaps on the back, shakes of the hand, and a number of well wishes to the overwhelmed half-elf. He enters the barn already a bit flushed and a _lot_ nervous, surveying the crowd inside with great attention. Amidst the crowd of familiars, he spots a few friends. Master Firbolg is chatting with Jenny towards the back corner of the barn, while Lyra mingles with the instrumentalists on-stage. He tries looking for Argo (having not seen him at _all_ today), but is stopped by a hearty slap on the back. 

“Roy!! It’s been a while!!” Sheriff Jasper bellows, looking at Fitzroy with a broad smile. “Ain’t this spectacular? A _whooole_ party thrown just for _you_!” Fitzroy laughs nervously, straightening his posture once the sheriff moves his hand. 

“Y-Yeah, it sure is... _loud_ ,” Fitzroy replies. Sheriff Jasper laughs heartily. 

“Young man, if you think _this_ is loud, then just wait ‘till it gets dark.” He says quite cryptically. Fitzroy can only imagine what a group of country folk will be like once they’re filled with liquor. “Well, I’ll see you around!” Then, he’s off, immediately lost to Fitzroy in the crowd of bodies. Now that he’s alone, his nerves pique and turn his legs to lead. He’s forgotten how much big parties _suck_ when you’re not immediately drunk, but he’s not allowing himself to get there tonight. 

No, he has to be bone-dry sober when he finds Argo, so he doesn’t ruin this situation even more. 

“Roy!” Fitzroy turns and sees Wyatt, relief flooding him. Wyatt is dressed rather casually, but still nicely. A well-pressed white t-shirt with a blue flannel worn overtop, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots. A golden cross is worn around his neck, which Fitzroy is surprised by. His gaze must be stuck there because Wyatt grabs the cross and laughs. “Oh, this? Yeah, I’m not all that religious myself, but it’s Grandpa’s so I tend to wear it when it’s a special occasion. Y’know, so he’s here with me.” 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Fitzroy notes with a genuine smile. “Say, not to completely redirect whatever you came up to me for, but have you seen Aaron around?” Wyatt looks around him for a moment, raising up to his tip-toes to better scan the crowd. 

“Uhhhhh nope! Not that I can see or _have_ seen, anyway,” Wyatt replies, looking back to Fitzroy. “B-But, uh, since I _do_ have you here, I just wanted you t’have something. Um...as thanks? Not necessarily for all--all _this_ , but just for...y’know, for being my friend.” He grabs Fitzroy’s wrist and slaps something into his hand with the other. “It’s not much--I had to make sure I didn’t upstage the big surprise--but I think you might like it.” Fitzroy turns his hand over to inspect the object and his eyes widen with what he finds. 

A small statue, no larger than his palm, of a fish jumping out of water. Carved from wood. Worn and smooth in certain spot from years of being rubbed and held. 

“W-Wyatt, I--I can’t accept this…” Fitzroy mutters, turning the statue over and over in his hand. Wyatt smiles and cloes Fitzroy’s hand around the statue. 

“I insist! It’s brought me a lotta years of good luck, but I think it’s about time I pass the torch…” Wyatt says, Fitzroy looking at him with a heartfelt expression. “And, if y’ever decided you need to _go_ , think of it like a compass! Always pointing back here, where everyone will welcome you back like no time passed at all.” His smile grows, a few tears gathered in his sapphire eyes as he watches Fitzroy flounder there for a moment. He’s almost afraid he’s overstepped when suddenly he finds himself pressed into the taller man’s chest in a tight hug. It lasts only a few seconds, but it’s enough to let the tears in Wyatt’s eyes flow forth for a moment. 

“Thank you, Wyatt. I...Thank you,” Fitzroy mutters before pulling away, looking at the blonde man with a full smile. “I won’t forget this.” 

“You better not, or I’ll use it as a compass to come kick your _ass_ ,” Wyatt jokes, causing the pair to laugh. “Okay, no more waterworks!! I got all my sap out now.” Fitzroy nods, wiping a tear from his eye (he’ll say it’s from laughing, but they both know the truth). 

“Yeah, why don’t you help me figure out where the hell my friends are? Did I tell you I had some folks from out of town come for the celebration?” Fitzroy says as he slings an arm over Wyatt’s shoulders, leading them both into the crowd proper. 

Fitzroy forgets about his mission for some time, letting the jovial nature of the party take over. 

He’ll have time later, he tells himself. After all, it’s gonna be a _long_ night.

\---

After about an hour or so of dancing and drinking, the crowd finally settles in for some grub. The tables full of food have been wafting through the barn for a while, now, and it’s about time that they chow down. Argo offers to help hand out the food, but is informed by Lyra that this is more of a “first come, first serve, please don’t throw elbows for it though” kind of situation. So he settles for waiting in line and getting his share of the delights, scanning the people crowded around the high-tops for a familiar face. 

He finds one in the sharp-toothed, forked-tongue face of Nikolai, peering above their brisket sandwich at a table not two feet in front of them. He walks over curiously, leaning over to look at what they might be so interested in. 

“Uh...hey Nik--” 

“--Shhhhhh! Don’t make any sudden moves!!” Nikolai shushes him, scanning the table in front of them with their hands cupped around their eyes like binoculars. “I am studying the animals _up close_ , so we mustn’t have any distractions…” Argo follows the tiefling’s stare to the table, noting the two figures talking across it. 

Zephyr stands with his back to Nikolai, but Argo can tell from his stature that the man is _nervous_. Which makes sense, given the fact that Wyatt is seated next to him on one of the stools, laughing to something Zephyr said. The sight brings a smile to the genasi’s face; he’s happy those two seem to be working it out. 

“How long have they been talking?” Argo asks as he pulls a stool up to sit beside his standing friend. 

“Like twenty minutes!” Nikolai whispers excitedly. “I told Zeph I’d let him tattoo something on my ass if he went up and talked to him. He thinks he’s won, but he doesn’t realize that even the crudest of drawings will look _phenomenal_ on my incredible ass.” Argo snorts and chokes on his mouthful of food, Nikolai slapping his back to get the food dislodged. Argo starts to cough, which gets Wyatt’s attention, and then Zephyr’s. Nikolai groans when they see Zephyr stare at them in horror. 

“Were you fucking _spying_ on us?!” Zephyr shouts, aghast. 

“Yeah!! And it would’ve been fine if I didn’t mention how _incredible_ my ass is!” Nikolai shouts back, slapping one more time on Argo’s back before the piece of chicken comes flying out of his mouth. “There we go!! Four years of lifeguarding _wasn’t_ worth nothing, after all!” 

“Are you okay, Aaron?” Wyatt asks, coming over with a napkin. Argo shakes his head, but he’s laughing so Wyatt assumes it’s fine. 

“I-I’m cool, I’m cool,” Argo says, waving off the blonde’s fussing. “I...I guess I just couldn’t handle Nik’s incredible ass…” Nikolai cackles delightedly at that, clapping with glee while Zephyr groans.

“Did you tell him about our bet?” Zephyr asks. 

“Of fucking course I did! Who do you think I am?” Nikolai replies easily. Wyatt seems to tune out the twins’ banter as he hands Argo a napkin. 

“U-Uh, I probably shouldn’t say this, but Roy is looking for you,” Wyatt says, just loud enough for Argo to hear. “I don’t know why, but he seemed pretty nervous about it.” Argo looks down at Wyatt, eyebrows shot up in surprise, and nods wordlessly. 

“A-Alright…? Guess I’ll...guess I’ll find him later…” Argo mutters. Wyatt smiles and pats Argo on the arm before walking back to his table, once again gaining the attention of the gothic twin. Argo drones out Nikolai’s ramblings for a moment, staring down at his plate. 

Suddenly, he doesn’t feel all that hungry. 

\---

Dinner lasts for about an hour and a half, giving everyone plenty of time to grab as much as their hearts desire and their stomachs can handle. Fitzroy samples just about every tray, out of courtesy for the _many_ people who chipped in for this whole affair, and finds he’s _stuffed_ by the time Sheriff Jasper hops up on-stage and grabs the mic from its stand. 

“Aight, is this thing on? Testing, testing, one two threeeee,” Sheriff Jasper says into the mic, tapping it a few times to give everyone an auditory heart attack. “Oh!! It’s on!! Aight, aight, um...Attention, folks! If I could just have everyone’s eyes on me for a quick moment, I promise I won’t be too long.” The crowd quiets down and turns its attention to the man on-stage, who responds to this with a wide grin. “Nice! Y’all react quicker then I woulda!” The crowd laughs. “Alright, time to get down to business. Now I’m sure you _alllll_ know the reason why we are so joyously gathered here today. And, if y’don’t and just decided to stop by for some free food and beer, then lemme tell y’all what that is,” the audience laughs again as Sheriff Jasper scans the crowd. “We are gathered here today to say a great...big...congratulations to--ah! To that fine young man right there!” Sheriff Jasper points to Fitzroy, who’s standing smack dab in the middle of the crowd of standing folk. Everyone turns and begins hooting and hollering in delight at Sheriff Jasper’s gesture, causing the half-elf to wave and try to ignore his warming face. “Come on up here, Roy!” Suddenly, the crowd parts and creates a path, everyone reaching in to give Fitzroy a gentle pat or shove as Fitzroy makes his way to the stage. He hops up and stands beside Sheriff Jasper, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as he’s handed the mic. 

“Uh, t-thank y’all! It’s a real honor to help out and just...be a part of a team!” Fitzroy says (awkwardly, given his usual bravado among a crowd) before handing the mic back to the sheriff. Sheriff Jasper takes the mic back with a hearty chuckle, patting Fitzroy’s shoulder a few times as he does so. 

“Aw, a modest one!! How sweet,” he says, the crowd laughing in earnest. “But really, if I could just take a minute out of yer time to say how _lucky_ we are to have a guy like Roy in our town? There are a scant few people who would be willing to stand off against those bandit bastards one-on-one, let alone someone who barely knows the people he’s fighting for! That takes _real_ courage, _real_ strength, and--if I’ll be honest? Real _balls_ .” The crowd erupts in laughter again as Fitzroy laughs himself, deciding to entertain the crowd with a few poses. Sheriff Jasper delights in this before getting everyone’s attention once more. “No, seriously, I...thank you. From the bottom of my heart, as sheriff of the great town of Dust Field, _thank you_ Roy Fitzgerald...for being a _true_ hero.” The crowd claps--softly at first before erupting in all-out applause--as the Sheriff extends his arms for a hug. Fitzroy laughs, hugging the shorter man for a moment before pulling away. The sheriff turns back to the crowd, a few tears in his eyes, as he speaks again. 

“Now, uh, I will be honest when I say I have _no_ idea what else is planned. Mostly ‘cause the load of work done to set up this party was done by Dust Field’s finest, Jenny Parker-Ross!” Sheriff Jasper extends an arm to his right as Jenny hops up and bounds towards the two. She crushes the two men in a hug from behind before plucking the mic out of Sheriff Jasper’s hand. 

“Thank you for the warm and _wonderful_ introduction, Jasper,” Jenny says as she slaps the man on the shoulder. “But I think it’s ‘bout time the oldies hop off stage, right Roy?” Fitzroy rolls his eyes and leans closer to the mic. 

“In that case, d’ya want me to take the mic so you two can help each other down?” Fitzroy teases; the crowd erupting in a series of laughs and “ohhhhh”s. Jenny gasps in mock offense as the sheriff laughs his way off stage. 

“Rude! Why, I oughta--that’s it, honey! Tear it all down! We’re done here!” Jenny calls out to her wife, who stands by the front of the stage. She rolls her eyes and gives the bigger woman a thumbs-down, to which Jenny sighs dramatically. “ _Fine_ . If you _insist_ , then I _guess_ we’ll have to keep the party goin’ for this ungrateful brat…” Fitzroy laughs and playfully slaps Jenny on the arm, which she laughs at as well. 

“Aight, so it’s true--the cat’s outta the bag-- _I_ was the one who put on this whoooole thing, but! I did not work alone! We, of course, have to extend a hand for my beautiful, loving, gorgeous, crafty, clever, hot, sexy, perfect in every way--” 

“--WE GET IT!” Lyra screams, her face beet-red. Jenny smiles and winks at her wife. 

“--My wife, Lyra Ross-Parker! Everyone clap for her!” The crowd all turns towards Lyra and begins to applaud, the changeling waving towards everyone a bit nervously before facing the stage. For a second, she locks eyes with Fitzroy and winks, and Fitzroy notices her left ear become sharper before going back to normal. 

“And _also_ , we need to give an extra warm, extra loud, _extra_ rowdy hand for the big man himself: Bud!!!” Jenny points at the Firbolg, who stands at the very back of the crowd. His eyes peek out from under his bangs at the calling of his “name”, looking both extremely shocked and elated to have everyone acknowledge him. “Yeah!!! He’s the man, right there!!” The Firbolg waves at everyone, his cheeks getting darker as the seconds tick by, before Jenny grabs everyone’s attention once more. 

“Aight, now that we’ve got _that_ underway--yer probably real darn curious as to why I had the sheriff haul yer ass up here, aren’t ya?” Jenny says into the mic but addresses it to Fitzroy. Fitzroy shrugs, leaning close so Jenny extends the mic. 

“If it ain’t about complimentin’ me or my muscles, I’m not sure I wanna hear it,” Fitzroy says, the audience laughing once more. Jenny rolls her eyes and jokingly punches at his arm. 

“Shut it before I make this whole thing about me again,” Jenny warns, though her smile betrays her words. “Nah, nah, I had you brought up here ‘cause I...I gotta get a little serious. And I excuse myself if I go off on a tangent or get really emotional, but I. I gotta say somethin’,” Fitzroy’s heart plummets into his feet for a moment before Jenny turns, and then he sees how happy she looks to be right here. “Roy, when you first showed up, I _knew_ you were different. Well, the three’a ya were quite different than any folks _I’ve_ ever seen wash up here, but you? There was somethin’ about ya that made me know _immediately_ that we would be good friends. And I am glad to say that, as always, I was one-hundred percent right.” She coughs into her fist for a second, the crowd completely still. 

“It’s been an honor to teach you the ways of the wood, Roy. And I mean that! I let...very _few_ people into my shop like how I let you in, a-and I gotta admit that I was skeptical of what you’d become! But you found yourself in that wood; and, like so many other masterpieces, you began to slowly etch away at the wood to find the art within. It’s been a...in retrospect, a _short_ amount of time with you around my shop, but it’s felt like I’ve known you your whole life! I-I--and I’m lookin’ at you right now, Roy? A-And I see...I see not some kid lookin’ for work. I see a _man_ who...who I hope feels as passionately for this lot of people as they feel about you.” There are tears gathering in Jenny’s eyes already, but she blinks them away to gesture for something. Fitzroy watches as a group of dwarves--led by none other than Orlon Gruntinger, the salesman from Meadowbrook--carry a tarp-covered object on stage. 

“I’ll be honest, Roy, I’ve been hidin’ one of my greatest projects from you for...fuck, like a few weeks? Almost a month now! B-But, now that I got you here, I figure I might as well show it.” She walks back towards the object and pats the tarp covering it. “Orlon was _happy_ to lend me some of the sturdiest wood he’s got available, and then...when he was hauling it over here? The _strangest_ thing happened! A storm loomed over his cart and lightning _struck_ the cart!” She looks over to the dwarf, who nods his head fervently. “A-And when I heard about this I was like, ‘Oh fuck, the wood!’ Not _immediately_ , ‘cause I was worried for Orlon and his cart, but I was bummed because I knew there wouldn’t be any better wood than that log! But, when he came back to the cart, he noticed something...incredible. The wood was struck, but it didn’t explode! Instead it had these fascinating, beautiful fractal scars all throughout! A-And I saw it and I thought, ‘Wow, _this_ is the perfect piece of wood’... So, uh, I made somethin’ for you! On behalf of myself, my wife, and everyone else in this room.” She firmly grasps the tarp, looking at Fitzroy with a teary smile. 

“It ain’t no Dustin statue, but it’s somethin’,” With that, she tears the tarp away, revealing the statue to the entire room. 

And it’s _beautiful_. 

A life-size sculpture, done in a light-colored maplewood, of _him_. Of Roy, standing proudly with his foot up on a log. He has one arm akimbo and the other against his forehead, wiping away what is likely sweat. He’s dressed in a pair of work boots, jeans, and a white tank top--revealing the attention-to-detail in Fitzroy’s various scars and blemishes. A bolt of large, cartoonish lightning strikes behind the impressive figure, revealing the fractal burn marks that are embedded into the wood. Fitzroy stares at this statue as the audience erupts in applause, mouth agape and eyes wide. Jenny watches his expression with delight, tears streaming down her face. 

“I’ve been waitin’ to say this for _too_ fuckin’ long, but welcome home, Roy Fitzgerald. Yer family’s missed ya.” Fitzroy looks down at Jenny, watching the woman he’s spent so many days with look back at him with nothing but love in her eyes. 

Her long hair, done back in a braid, makes him nearly mistake her for his mother. 

At this point, she’s the closest thing he’s got to one. 

“ _Ma_ \--” Fitzroy croaks out, running full speed towards the woman and nearly tackling her in a hug. Jenny drops the mic with an ear-piercing clatter, but the crowd barely notices over cheering at the two’s embrace. Jenny holds onto him and sobs into his shoulder, Fitzroy doing the same to her back. 

“I love you, buddy,” Jenny mutters, “Like you were my own son, I--I love ya,” 

“ _I know_ ,” Fitzroy sobs, squeezing her tighter. “I love you too,” That wasn’t something Jenny had prepared herself for, and it causes the woman to wail and hold on tighter. After a minute, Lyra jumps up and squeezes herself into the hug. Then, the Firbolg joins in. The group all shares in a few more tears as the crowd reaches out to extend hugs to those around them. 

Fitzroy loses himself in the moment for so long that he barely registers the genasi’s absence. 

Nor does he notice the man slink out the bar doors amidst all the cheerful embraces. However, a particular set of sapphire eyes watch him leave--a frown forming in the sea of smiles. 

\---

After Fitzroy’s been given enough time to cry and calm down, the party moves into its upswing. The tables and stools get cleared out of the barn to make more room to dance, and the band kicks it into high-gear. Fitzroy dances with Jenny for a bit, enjoying the time with her almost more than he does anyone else. Then, Lyra joins in and Fitzroy witnesses first-hand how talented of a dancer the woman is. He eventually gets twirled into Wyatt’s arms, he laughs as Fitzroy reorients himself. They dance clumsily but merrily before Wyatt gets stolen by a particular tiefling twin, Wyatt looking back at Fitzroy with a red face and a wild grin before being pulled away. 

From here, Fitzroy mingles about the crowd, talking to people and dancing on his own. He spots Rainer and Zana dancing amidst the crowd, hands intertwined, and he whoops in celebration for the necromancer (who flips him off in response). He becomes fully acquainted with Nikolai, who takes him for a spin--quite literally. They’re a cyclone of energy, but Fitzroy finds himself energized by their antics rather than annoyed. He goes up to Buckminster and initiates a breakdancing competition that has a circle around them almost immediately--the winner being a particular beefy bald-headed man, once he’s coerced into the circle. Finally, he finds the Firbolg and teaches him how to squaredance, which the massive man takes _great_ delight in. 

By the time the music has slowed, the lights have dimmed, and the crowd disperses into couples; Fitzroy has nearly forgotten his big mission. 

That is, until Wyatt gets his attention. 

“Hey, Roy, have you found Aaron yet?” He asks somewhat quietly. Fitzroy looks down at him and shakes his head. 

“No, why? Have you seen ‘im?” Wyatt suddenly looks _very_ concerned. 

“Yeah, I saw him about an hour ago! He was _leaving_!” Wyatt says emphatically. Fitzroy frowns, eyebrows scrunched together in thought. 

“Leaving? The party isn’t over!” Fitzroy’s chipper mood is brought down as he anxiously scans the crowd of dancing couples, desperate to see him mingling amongst them. “M-Maybe he was just goin’ out for a bit?” 

“I thought that too, but I haven’t seen him since!” Wyatt replies, grabbing Fitzroy’s arm tightly. “You gotta go find him, Roy.” Fitzroy looks towards the barn doors, looking out over the endless heads to the rest of town. Argo may have left, but Fitzroy knows every place he could be hiding. 

“Yeah, I’ll find him,” Fitzroy says back to Wyatt as he walks away, weaving through the crowd and out into the open air. He briskly walks away from the barn and back towards his apartment, certain where he’ll find the genasi at this time of day. 

\---

Argo watches the sunset dip below the horizon from atop the roof of the apartment building, taking a quick swig from his bottle of whiskey before setting it down with a sigh. 

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” And then he nearly falls _off_ the roof at the sound of Fitzroy’s voice behind him. He turns around to see the half-elf standing behind him nervously, face aglow in the dying rays of light. His white western shirt almost glows in the sunlight, gold tassels shining like they were made from actual gold. The two lightning bolts across each half of his upper chest let Argo know the shirt was custom-made, pointing downwards towards his heart. The gold chain he wore that night a week ago stands out against his shirt, reminding Argo of other times. He wears black jeans tucked into his black cowboy boots, which kick at the pebbles atop the roof as Fitzroy awaits a response. Argo turns away again, ignoring how fast his heart is beating. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” he mutters. Fitzroy stands behind him for a few more seconds--until the silence becomes unbearable--and then makes his way towards Argo’s left. 

“You mind if I…?” Fitzroy trails off, pointing to the spot beside Argo. Argo shrugs, knowing he won’t be able to escape it as Fitzroy settles down beside him. “Uh, how long...how long have you been up here?” Argo shrugs, looking down at the bottle of whiskey in his hand. He measures from the bottom of the neck to the liquid line and presents that finger-measurement to Fitzroy. 

“About that long,” he says, turning back towards the horizon. Fitzroy snickers at the genasi’s joke, but after a moment it suddenly doesn’t feel that funny. “What...What do you want, Fitzroy.” He doesn’t ask it, but states it--a fact that Fitzroy notes with a wince. 

“I came here to apologize,” Fitzroy responds immediately, but it takes a moment for Argo to understand. When he does, his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, turning back to the barbarian with a flabbergasted expression. 

“Wh--Say that again?” Argo asks. Fitzroy sighs, face red, and takes a deep breath. 

“Argonaut Keene, I came here to _apologize_ to you for...well, for a lot of shit, but mostly for how poorly I treated you last week.” Fitzroy says, not backing down in the slightest as he maintains eye contact. “I...I should’ve listened to you. Should’ve...let you speak, but I was embarrassed! I had just been suckerpunched for _seemingly_ no reason and then screamed at about how terrible of a person I supposedly am! I-I was not in the right headspace to accuse you of such things, and I’m _sorry_ I let another man’s words get between us. But, truth be told, what I am most sorry for is how...I let _myself_ be carried away with paranoia.” Fitzroy sighs, looking down at his hands for only a moment before returning to meet Argo’s gaze. “I don’t know if you realize this, but I’m... _terrified_ of you.” 

“What?” Argo blurts out. “Y--You’re _afraid_ of me? What the hell for?” At that, Fitzroy laughs bitterly to himself and clenches a fist anxiously. 

“Do you understand the power you have over me, Argo?” Fitzroy’s question is simple and yet so unbelievably complex. “You...I have told very few people _anything_ about my life; and you sit here, in front of me now, with a _tremendous_ amount of knowledge about me. Some of it--sure, I’ll admit, I did not consent to you knowing. But a lot of it? Argo, a _lot_ of it I sat _here_ ,” Fitzroy points at the roof they’re sitting atop, “and gave you the rest of it because...b-because, try as I might to deny or ignore it, I _trust you_ . And I’ve never trusted another man quite like I trust you, Argonaut, and it’s _fucking scary_ ! Do--Do you even understand that? After _everything_ we’ve been through, and all the times I’ve _said_ I don’t trust you, I _still did_ !! I was denying it even to myself, but something about _you_...makes me feel safe…” 

“Argo, I am about to tell you something that--up until quite recently--I have _never_ told another soul. And the reason I am telling you this is to extend an olive branch, in case everything I’ve said just now sounds like complete and utter bullshit. I am going to tell you my deepest secret because I want you to understand _just_ how much I feel safe with you. Argo, I...I-I. Fuck, this is actually really hard to do earnestly,” Fitzroy laughs to himself for a moment, clearly stalling for time. But Argo waits without a word. Finally, when he seems ready, he takes a deep breath and says: 

“I’m a changeling.” 

And Argo...doesn’t know how to react. He simply stares, studying the barbarian’s tense features--an obvious sign that what he’s saying is true. Fitzroy clenches his eyes for a few seconds, seemingly prepared for the worst, but when nothing comes...he’s confused. He opens his eyes and sees Argo just...staring. 

“Um...I was expecting a _bit_ more of a reaction to my deepest, darkest secret being revealed to you.” Fitzroy states, staring nervously back. Argo continues to say nothing for another moment and then laughs. But the laugh isn’t mocking or demeaning in cadence. It’s...genuine. It’s confusing, but it’s genuine. 

“I--Like...okay?” Argo says, unsure of what he’s _supposed_ to be saying. “Is...I’m assumin’ this is a far more serious topic than I think, but it--honestly, like, I don’t know what t’say.” 

“Well, you could start with maybe commending me on my _bravery_ ? Since, y’know, I _just told you this is my most precious piece of information regarding myself_?” Fitzroy replies, voice teetering on manic. Argo laughs again, this time a bit more in humor. 

“O-Okay! Good for you! I-I’m glad you trust me with this information! I-I just...I dunno how it really pertains to you _or_ me. Like...do you present differently? Around other people?” Fitzroy shakes his head definitely, cheeks aglow as he gets a bit more heated. 

“N-No! It’s--It’s the _principle_ of it, really, I...I have _always_ presented as a half-elf because as a child I was told to. Not in any sort of strict way, but...My mother’s family has a _lot_ of money. Being a well-to-do elven family with a long lineage will do that. And my mother went against their wishes by marrying my father. He was a human and they didn’t _like_ humans. They would’ve much rather my mother marry some pompous asshole elven man than the man she truly believed she loved. So...needless to say, we were _not_ on their good side. And! We were poor! My--I should explain, my father found me in the woods? Like, when I was a baby? Just sorta...out there, I dunno. I think my birth parents left me there to _die_? Who’s to say.” 

“So, I was _obviously_ not a child born in wedlock. Nor was I an elf! I was a _changeling_ \--which, if you’re not informed, are _highly_ discriminated against for being ‘tricksters’. If my mother walked into her parents’ home with a stark white, wide-eyed, thin-haired changeling son? Oh my _gods_ they would’ve probably _killed_ her! So my parents needed to pretend that I was their _biological_ son by making me look like a half-elf. My mother drew up a portrait of what a combination of her and her husband’s genes would create, and I...copied it. I’ve been that way ever since, Argo. I have _always_ been this way.” Fitzroy gestures to himself. “But, my mother’s family was still not amused by my existence. We were excommunicated from the Maplecourt family, and all the money we had hoped to gain from them was _gone_ . That’s...that’s where I started the last time we were here. When my father left, a year or so later. I was just old enough to remember and understand what my mother was so sad about, the day she came to my crying. It--” his voice wavers. “It _ruined_ my sense of identity, Argo. I...no longer felt I was _anything_ . Not a changeling, not a half-elf, not even a person! I felt like...I was a _failure_ , simply for existing as I was asked! And I have truly never...recovered.” 

“It has taken me a long, long, _long_ time to firmly say that I _am_ Fitzroy Maplecourt, but...I never allowed myself to trust anyone ever again. I was certain--in the back of my mind--that if I trusted _anyone_ like I trusted my family, I would be turned away _again_ . It’s why I never wrote to my mother in school! I-It’s why it’s been so _hard_ to know she assumes I’m dead! I tried _very_ hard to separate my past from my present, but...being out here, Argo. Being with people who--for no reason at _all_ \--trust you and care about you? It’s...it’s forced me to realize that I _don’t know who I am_ ! A-And that’s okay! I have so much time to figure that out, but I shouldn’t be _squandering_ my bonds with other people just because of that! B-Because _you_ found a reason to care about me. Despite all odds, despite the way I’ve treated you, despite knowing _everything_ about me...you _still_ cared. And I--I was _afraid_ of that...But...But not any longer,” he reaches out to Argo and grabs his hand, pulling the genasi a breath’s worth closer. 

“Argo, you do _not_ need to forgive me for what I’ve done. But, if you do, I will be the most loyal, trusting, _giving_ person in your life. I...I promise.” At that, he looks up from their joined hands to lock eyes with Argo. A small, genuine, _special_ smile across his face. 

Argo looks at him in the eyes and feels like he’s in love all over again. He turns his hand in Fitzroy’s grasp just so their fingers can interlock. It is a _bold_ move, but one that isn’t met with disgust or confusion. Fitzroy simply looks at him, smiling, and Argo finds he can’t help but smile back. 

“Fitzroy, I...I forgive ya,” Argo says on a sigh, sounding much too fond. Fitzroy looks surprised at this, mouth open in a small “o”. “A-And, before you say anything, I...I-I have something to confess, myself.” Argo can’t believe the words are actually coming out of his mouth, but he has never felt so _good_ saying anything than he has right now. Fitzroy, for his part, looks a bit confused but continues to let him speak. “F-Fitzroy, I...Meeting you, bein’ yer friend has been...like a _dream_ . I-I never woulda thought a person like you would let a fella like me into yer life, b-but...but now that I’m _here_ \--and, trust, I’m here for _good_ \--I have so say that...that I...I-I. Fitzroy Maplecourt, I am--” 

A scream pierces through the darkening sky, alarming both men into silence. They look in the direction of the scream before looking back at each other, disturbed. 

“Hey...was that in the--” Argo starts, but is stopped by a finger pressed to his lips. Fitzroy continues to stare in the direction of the scream, ears twitching subtly as he picks up on something. 

“Argo...you could...you could _hear_ the music at the barn, right? Like, just a few seconds ago?” Fitzroy’s voice is devoid of any emotion other than terror. Argo, having Fitzroy’s finger away from his mouth, can’t help but mirror the feeling. 

“I--Yeah, I’ve been able to hear it all night, why would…” And then he realizes why Fitzroy is so concerned. 

Because the scream came in the direction of the party, and the town is _silent_. Argo’s eyes widen as he turns back towards the barn. 

“What do you...what’s going on--” 

“--No time, we need to _go_.” Then Fitzroy, with Argo in tow, jumps off the roof. 

And lands on the ground, safe and sound, a second later. 

Argo looks up to the apartment building and back to Fitzroy at a loss for words. Fitzroy seems to not realize Argo’s confusion immediately, as he has just gone into a rage. “Oh, I--I went into a rage and manifested that energy into teleporting down here. Figured it was faster than running down the stairs.” Argo nods, still shell-shocked. 

“Wait, isn’t your wild magic like...completely unpredictable?” Argo asks. Fitzroy nods casually. 

“Oh, yeah, it _very_ well could have _not_ done what I wanted it to, but it did! So we’re fine,” Fitzroy replies, dragging Argo down the street in a full sprint. Argo maintains Fitzroy’s pace, now looking at the half-elf with frustration. 

“Fitzroy, you could have fucking killed us _both_!” 

“Yeah, but I _didn’t_ , so let’s _go_!” Is the last thing Fitzroy says as they charge towards what’s wrong. 

\---

They get to the barn in a few moments time, realizing almost immediately that something is _off_. The barn doors are shut but the windows still shine with the colored lights of the party, and not a soul is outside. Fitzroy and Argo approach the barn doors cautiously, still hand-in-hand, looking at each other when they are right up against them. Fitzroy holds a hand up and presses his ear delicately against the wood, hearing for any sounds. 

What he picks up on is Lyra’s voice--which, as Fitzroy is now understanding--was the one who screamed. She’s crying and saying something, and a voice cuts her off before another smaller scream escapes her. Fitzroy feels his magic course violently through his veins as he turns to Argo and nods. Argo nods back--a silent understanding that they are about to enter a _dangerous_ situation--before watching Fitzroy blow open the doors with a mighty Thunderwave. 

“Ah, _there_ he is!” A voice echoes after the powerful blow, obscured by the dust that picks up in the doors’ wake. “I was about to start doing some _actual_ damage to get your attention, but it seems the screams of this damsel in distress was quite enough for _you_ .” As the dust settles, Fitzroy and Argo step forward, noticing they are _not_ alone here. 

The cloud of microscopic debris reveals a line of bandana-wearing bandits, the entirety of both towns left cowering behind these strong figures. At the center of the semicircle is a bandit with an electric green bandana--only, instead of being tied around his mouth, is tied around his neck. His hair is a similar shade of green, and his eyes are a piercing black. He’s grinning, despite everything, as he holds a knife to Lyra’s throat. Lyra is nearly limp in his arms; and, after surveying the room, it is clear why she is not putting up more of a fight. 

Jenny is curled up on the ground, mouth darkened with blood, as two bandits stand over her with a bat. Jenny clutches at her stomach, sobbing silently. 

“Sorry to arrive at such short notice, but it’s not our fault! We didn’t receive an invitation, did we fellas!?” The neon green bandit bellows, the other bandits nodding and grumbling in agreement. “Now, usually I would not even attend such an event after so _rude_ a gesture, but I thought to myself--Cyprus, what _better_ way to show these folks how _we_ deal with impoliteness than by showing up unannounced!” He laughs and the other bandits echo him. Fitzroy stands, both fists clenched (as he let go of Argo to perform Thunderwave), and glares at the man in front of him. The bandit, apparently Cyprus, looks at him with a mocking frown. 

“Aww, what’s got the big fella so _mad_ ? Is it...perhaps...is it _me_ ?” Cyprus points to himself dramatically with the knife, pulling Lyra closer to the blade. “Am I stealing your--hold for laughter-- _thunder_??” The bandits boom in laughter as Cyprus does a few bows. 

“Enough of this,” Fitzroy shouts sternly back, silencing the bandits. “What. The _hell_ . Do you _want_.” Cyprus looks at Fitzroy for a moment, studying him, before an electrifying smile spreads across his face. 

“Well, since _you_ seem to be in a hurry, I’ll make it quick,” Cyprus sneers, pointing the knife towards Fitzroy. “You see, I was _willing_ to let you have your little victory at Meadowbrook. Plenty of operations, in my time, have gone a _liiiiittle_ awry; and sometimes my people get hurt! That’s _fine_! They come on back home, we tend to their wounds, and we try all over again somewhere else. I was _willing_ to let you people have your day! But then...a little birdie--and I mean this _quite_ literally--a _bird_ came to our base and told me that you... _people_ ,” he drags the knife up Lyra’s body slowly. Dangerously. Lyra whimpers. 

“You _people_ were throwing a celebration in _his_ honor?!” The act that Cyprus has put up thus far is falling fast, revealing the unending well of hatred he feels towards Fitzroy. “You were going to celebrate _beating us_!? When we _let_ you win!?! That’s. Fucking. _Ridiculous_! Right, boys!?” The bandits echo his words. “When I heard that, I thought: ‘Oh, they think they’re _rid_ of us? No, no, no...that simply will _not_ do.’ So I gathered up my troops in our Sunday best and decided we would pay little old Dust Field a visit.” The knife reaches Lyra’s neck again and, this time, Cyprus puts a touch of pressure behind it. Fitzroy watches a thin line of blood form on her pale skin, running down the knife with ease. 

“Let her go.” Fitzroy demands, taking a half step forward. Cyprus responds to this _immediately_ ; pointing the knife back at Fitzroy as his goons take _two_ steps forward. 

“If you move another inch without my word, I will cut open her throat and rip out her pathetic little vocal chords myself.” Cyprus warns, his voice cold and emotionless. Fitzroy makes no sudden movements. Cyprus smiles when he notices. “...Good. Good to know you take instructions well.” He turns the knife back to Lyra, but he does not put pressure against her neck. “You see, I don’t _want_ to kill this dumb broad! I don’t even wanna kill her dumb dyke girlfriend!” Cyprus nods towards Jenny’s body. “I wanna kill **_you_ **.” Argo looks at Fitzroy, alarmed, when the bandit says this. Fitzroy looks indifferently ahead. 

“So I’m gonna offer you a _deal_ \--and, bear in mind, I don’t do that often. I’ll spare both broads _and_ the rest of this room, if you step forward and let me kill you. I promise it will be only the best, the finest, the most _painful_ death you could ever experience--but, in return for your bravery, the rest of this town gets to live! We’ll drag your corpse out of the building, skewer it on a pillar as testament to our power, and leave! Never to return again! Sooooooo...whaddya say? Wanna make a deal with the devil~? Or do you think little miss _trickster_ ,” he presses the knife against her skin again, “here can take a few more cuts?” 

Fitzroy stares silently at Cyprus for a breath, the whole crowd watching in terrified anticipation. Jenny looks up at her Roy and finds the brave young man she’s known for almost three months...at a loss. Lyra keeps her eyes shut, unwilling to face the reality of death against her neck. Everyone else that Fitzroy has ever known stands and stares, unblinking and hearts frozen still. 

And then...Fitzroy looks down at his hands for only a second before looking back at Cyprus. 

“If you let everyone go right now, I will do it. But I will _only_ do it if it’s _you_ fighting me--no extra weapons, no extra men, no magic at _all_. Just man versus man.” Fitzroy wagers, to which Cyprus cackles wildly. 

“Do you--Are you guys fucking _hearing_ this? Are you trying to give me a _counter-offer_?! When I’m literally _this_ close from cutting this lady’s _head off_!?” Cyprus asks in manic disbelief. Fitzroy remains expressionless and cold. 

“You won’t do it.” Fitzroy replies simply. “You won’t do it because if you _do_ , all I need to do is extend my arm and you will be dead within an _instant_.” His threat silences the lead bandit’s little chuckles, who looks back at the half-elf with pure malice. “You think I’m kidding? Try it. See what happens when you question me. I-I cannot even _begin_ to describe to you how _brutally_ my magic would obliterate you if you so much as move an _inch_ closer to her skin with the knife. It is even beyond _my_ understanding, the depth of my own power! I ripped a man’s hand off with _ease_ only months ago! Do you think I’d hold anything back if _you_ tried something stupid? Do you think you’re _that_ special?” He is met with silence. “I didn’t think so. Put her down, let everyone walk out, and drop your weapons. We’ll fight like _men_ \--not like children. And if you _truly_ best me, you can kill me in whatever brutal way you see fit. But I will _not_ hesitate to give you that same courtesy.” The two men stand off for a long, dreadful pause. The whole room waits with bated breath for a response. 

Then, Cyprus laughs. Long and winding and loud. 

“Alright. You got it, _bucko_ ,” Cyprus says with a smile, shoving Lyra to the ground roughly. “Boys, let ‘em go.” With that, the bandits move, roughly pushing people in mass groups out of the opening behind Fitzroy and Argo. Jenny and Lyra are hauled up by a lumbering human bandit, who drags them both out together. Jenny looks back at Fitzroy and sobs, reaching weakly out for him. 

The bandits return to their places around Cyprus, creating a perfect ring for battle. One person they manage to miss in the grand moving is Argonaut Keene, who uses his stealth to blend into the background. He remains where he once was, just behind Fitzroy. Poised and ready for a fight. 

Cyprus then begins to drop his weapons. He starts with the knife, then dramatically pats himself down and begins to remove other weapons. Bombs, daggers, smaller throwing stars, and other such concealables are removed and dropped haphazardly around the man. He kicks the weapons away, leaving nothing in front of him. Then he nods towards Fitzroy. 

“Your turn,” is all he says. Fitzroy takes a few deep breaths and drops out of his rage; his hair returning to normal as his eyes regain their normal hue. He then removes his pocket knife from his pants, making a show of taking out the pocket fabric of every other one to show he is truly weaponless. Cyprus nods approvingly. “Alright, alright...fair is fair is fair, I suppose. So! Whenever you’re ready, take a step forward.” Cyprus then gestures to the floor in front of him and waits patiently, hands at his sides. Fitzroy surveys the man intensely, making sure not an inch of him is lying in the slightest. 

He turns around and locks eyes with Argo--looking as if he is merely facing the crowd of people just beyond the opening. Argo looks at the love of his life and nods firmly. 

Fitzroy turns back, takes another breath, and then moves. 

\---

And then...something happens. 

Something happens very quickly.

So quickly, in fact, that Fitzroy is barely even able to register it before he sees a flash of blue in front of him. Argo collapses to the floor seconds later, looking like a corpse. 

You see, Cyprus is a bandit. A crook. A thief. He was _never_ going to play by anyone else’s rules, and Argo? 

Argo could see that and was ready to _move_. 

The second Fitzroy took a step, Cyprus brandished a hidden wand and flung a spell aimed directly at Fitzroy’s chest. Argo sees this happen and, given his stealth, is able to deftly jump in front of Fitzroy before it reaches him. Argo takes the brunt of the blow, collapsing to the ground in great pain. 

The spell Cyprus had slung was a necrotic spell, meant to drain the life of whoever it hit. And Argo, having already been dealt a hit of necrotic magic by Fitzroy all those months ago, could smell the stench of death in the air. He knew what he was doing. 

And he _did not care_. 

\---

Argo begins to lose consciousness the second his body hits the floor. He sees the world in spinning, streaking color--the sounds muffled by the frantic beating of his own heart. His eyes begin to slip close and he fights against the urge, forcing himself to witness what is going on in front of him. Because of his failing strength, however, he is only able to capture moments. 

In one blink of an eye, he sees the vague shape of Fitzroy Maplecourt above him, screaming something he cannot hear. 

In another, he sees Fitzroy in motion--a blur of streaking colors as he descends upon the bandits. The sounds he hears are not clear, but it is clearly the sound of _pure_ **_rage_ **.

In the next blink, he sees an arm reach across his body and pull him away from the fight. He cannot recognize the voice in his ear, but he can recognize the sight of Fitzroy driving his arm through a man’s chest. 

In the last blink, he sees a swirl of familiar faces. All looking down, all saying _something_. 

Then it all goes **black**. 

\---

Fitzroy sits in the darkened room and waits for a sign. 

He’s been here for about an hour or so, having completely blacked out after witnessing Argo’s body crumble to the floor. He remembers bits and moments. He remembers _rage_. But he does not remember much. 

After coming out of his rage, he finds the barn a pile of rubble. Jenny holds him and cries, begging him to return, and when she sees the whipping winds around them settle she cries even louder out of relief. Fitzroy is seen by a medic from Meadowbrook on-site and is quickly brought up to speed. 

Argo is not dead. Though, he got _very_ close. 

Fitzroy killed two men. Not Cyprus. Not civilians. They were bandits he was fighting, and he obliterated them both with incredible force. The rest of the bandits have been arrested but sent to the hospital in Meadowbrook; their wounds being _too_ severe to handle in Dust Field. 

Jenny insists he goes home and rests, but Fitzroy refuses. He finds where they are keeping Argo and he waits. 

Waits for a sign that he is okay. 

“I’m tellin’ ya, if you’re sitting here expectin’ him to come to tonight? You are _sorely_ mistaken,” says the voice of a woman who stands beside Fitzroy. Fitzroy looks up, having just noticed her presence, and eyes her warily. A woman with long red hair and a scar across the left side of her face stands before him at an impressive 6’5 (if he had to guess). She’s wearing a black sweater with a white labcoat thrown over top. She holds a massive mug of coffee that billows a small line of steam up to her freckled face, revealing the cup is freshly poured. She looks plainly at Argo and watches his vitals. 

“I-I’m sorry, who’re you?” Fitzroy asks, still skeptical. The woman does not look down at him, but remains locked on Argo’s body. 

“Dr. Carrington. Most call me Anantolia--I honestly don’t give a shit which one you choose.” Anatolia says, her voice a cold Western drawl. “That guy hit your friend with a powerful necrotic spell. He could’ve died, if they were in any slower in bringin’ him here.” Fitzroy shudders at the idea, turning away to look back at the genasi. 

“Is he...gonna make it?” Fitzroy asks after a moment, his voice small. Anatalia hums. 

“Didn’t seem like it at first, but I got it under control,” she replies. “Judgin’ by his vitals, he should make it through the night.” Despite her demeanor, her words are a massive comfort to the half-elf. He leans back against the hospital chair, releasing a long breath of air. Anatolia glances at him for a second before nodding. “You gonna stay?” 

“Yes.” Fitzroy’s response is immediate. The doctor nods. 

“Aight, well--like I said--nothin’ much should happen tonight. I live upstairs and I will _not_ be asleep; so if anything changes with his vitals or if you need somethin’, just press the buzzer on his bed and I’ll be down within a second.” And with that, Dr. Carrington turns and exits the room, leaving Fitzroy with Argo’s motionless body. 

Fitzroy waits a moment to ensure the doctor is gone before he slowly scoots his chair closer to the bed. From here, he can better watch the labored rise and fall of Argo’s chest; his eyes motionless behind their lids. Fitzroy studies every inch of Argo that he can see, desperately hoping for a sign. Sure, the doctor’s word is helpful, but Fitzroy only trusts his own instinct. 

If Argo is still in that head, he’ll let Fitzroy know. 

“I really beefed it for the both of us, didn’t I?” Fitzroy mutters aloud--mostly to Argo, but also to himself. He laughs bitterly, holding back a sob. “I...should have _known_ you would do something like this. Y-You always had my back...And I failed to have yours.” His eyes become transfixed on Argo’s hands--one over top of the other on his chest, much like how one would pose a corpse. Gingerly--as if he could break his fingers with one faulty movement--Fitzroy reaches out and takes hold of Argo’s left hand. He gently brings the hand closer to him, letting it rest in Fitzroy’s right palm. 

“Y’gotta get up from this, Argo,” Fitzroy whispers, looking only at the hand in his. “You...You were going to say something earlier. On the roof? Wh...What was it, Argo? You...You _gotta_ come back to tell me! C-C’mon! After all I said tonight, you’re just going to up and d--and...d-- _fuck_.” Fitzroy leans over, letting a few sobs wrack his body as guilt overwhelms him. 

He should’ve known that letting someone in would only lead to disaster. He should’ve known that giving Argo his trust was essentially giving him a death wish. But he was _naive_ \--he had hoped beyond hope that this would be different. That he wouldn’t be giving himself to a lost cause. That he could trust someone and know that they trust him right back. 

But _why_ does Fitzroy trust Argo so much? 

That question he’s been grappling with for a while now, and in this moment the answer seems so far away it almost doesn’t exist. 

So Fitzroy closes his eyes, and he thinks. 

And he remembers. 

He remembers the strange feeling he got the first time he met Argonaut Keene at Wiggenstaff’s; the strange flurry of frustration and disgust and something _else_ mingling in his gut as the guy smiled casually back at him. He flung an insult, which Argo laughed off at the time, but he was always confused as to _why_ he did that so quickly. 

Then he remembers the strange feeling he got waking up from being cursed, seeing Argonaut Keene cradle him gently in his arms as if he were something precious. He remembers hearing Argo sob as he welcomed Fitzroy back, and all he could do in that moment was make a joke about blowing Argo’s head off. Why was he so hesitant to accept Argo’s kindness, in that moment? Why did seeing his mustached face make him feel so...odd?

Then, in a flurry of pictures--almost as if someone was skimming through a magazine--Fitzroy sees the last three months in quick succession. 

He sees Argo at the campfire, tearing his shirt apart at Fitzroy’s request. 

He sees Argo at the river, staring at his reflection in the water in _awe_ of his new haircut. 

He sees Argo at the apartment, looking hurt but understanding after Fitzroy tells him off and storms upstairs. 

He sees Argo at the tattoo parlor, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he poses with his new piercing. 

He sees Argo in the kitchen, warm light streaming in and setting his new septum ring aglow.

He sees Argo on the roof, drenched in rain and smiling giddily up at the clouds. 

He sees Argo again and again, doing things that send Fitzroy’s body alight with an emotion he cannot quite describe. It all culminates in a whirlwind, circling around tonight. On the roof. Staring at Argo, who stares back with wide eyes full of something, too. 

And then, he doesn’t see Argo at all. He sees the warm, golden eyes of his mother, looking down at him with love and joy in her face. 

Fitzroy remembers a moment he hasn’t remembered in a long time. 

_“Mommy, how did you know you were in love with Daddy?” Fitzroy asks out-of-the-blue one morning. It's early enough in his childhood that he doesn’t need to worry about school, but can still talk to his mother normally. His mother, looking up from her morning crossword, seems surprised by this inquiry._

_“Why do you ask, my dear?” Deardra replies warmly. Fitzroy shrugs, as most kids do when they aren’t sure of an impulse they’ve just had. Deardra shakes her head fondly and laughs, reaching for the five-year-old who gladly climbs into her lap. She sets her crossword aside and looks down at Fitzroy, thinking. “Well, it took me a very long time to know, actually! I was a bit...unaware of how love would feel like, and so I spent a long time ignoring it!”_

_“But how could you ignore love? Don’t you love a lot of things?” Fitzroy asks, seeming shocked at his mother’s answer. She laughs again, nodding._

_“Yes, yes, I_ do _love many things. But, the love I feel for your father...is a different kind of love altogether.” Fitzroy looks up at his mother, eyes wide with intrigue._

 _“What_ _kind of love_ is _it, then?” Fitzroy presses on._

 _“Well, it’s a kind of...strange love, to be frank! It makes you react differently to people than how you normally would, and it leaves an odd feeling in your chest that lingers for a loooooooong time. I often saw your father and thought I was sick with some sort of illness because of the strange feeling in my chest whenever we locked eyes! It wasn’t until I got a bit older, and a bit more learned, that I realized...that strange feeling_ is _love.” She looks down at her son and cards a hand through his hair._

_“Love--like how I love your father--is an oddity. So, to answer your question, you might not realize you’re in love until that oddity makes itself known to you…” Fitzroy nods, unaware of the true meaning behind his mother’s words but absorbing them regardless. She laughs again, ruffles his hair, and kisses him on the forehead._

And then the memory is gone, leaving Fitzroy with only the oddity. 

_His_ oddity. 

Argonaut Keene: the man he’s been in love with for far too long. 

When he comes to this conclusion, all he can do is stare. Then a small laugh bubbles up from his chest--delighted and giddy and _free_. He lets a few more go, laughing louder and louder until it sounds like he’s been told the funniest joke on Nua. He laughs and the laughter fills him with endless warmth; like he’s been out of the sun for years, and he can finally feel its rays in this moment. He laughs because he’s in _love_ and he was too stupid to realize it sooner.

He laughs and savors that last laugh. Because he knows what’s coming next. 

Fitzroy gently places Argo’s hand back on his chest as he stands, pulling a folded sheet of paper from out of his back pocket. He doesn’t look at the letter--the words already burned into his brain--but he tucks it into his chest pocket as he smiles down at his love. For a moment, he lets himself imagine what life would be like if he had the opportunity to love Argo fully. 

But he’ll never know because he has been destined for other things. So he leans over Argo’s body and ever-so-gently kisses his forehead. Nothing more than a soft press of lips against cool skin. Fitzroy savors the moment and whispers: 

“I’m sorry,” 

And then the room is empty, save for the person lying in bed. 

\---

As the sun begins to slowly rise above the horizon, a lone figure walks away from the lonely desert town. The figure walks slowly but with confidence towards the dying line of trees a few hundred feet in front of him. 

As the figure approaches, two forms appear at the edge of the woods. They are massive and hulking, slowly revealing themselves to be pit demons as the figure comes closer. Fitzroy holds his hands up in defeat as he walks towards the demons. 

“Alright, I did as he asked. Before sunrise, out of Dust Field. You don’t need to hurt me--I’m going willingly back.” Fitzroy says as he approaches the two demons. The demons look at him with blood-red eyes, unblinking. Finally, when Fitzroy is in front of them, they reach out and roughly grab him by both arms. 

“H-Hey! What the hell!? I _just_ said--” A gas is sprayed into the changeling’s face and he immediately passes out. 

\---

Argo awakens slowly the next day, the world around him coming in and out as his eyes adjust. For a second, he swears he can see Fitzroy sitting beside him, but in the next moment the room is empty. Then, as he comes to for the final time, he sees a figure at his bedside again. He automatically assumes it is the half-elf once more and quickly rouses himself to consciousness, but is confused when he sees a human woman at his bedside. She wears a long labcoat and a grey turtleneck sweater, eyeing Argo from her cup of coffee. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” the woman says simply. “That was faster than I expected.” Argo blinks at this woman tiredly, his body still struggling to make sense of the situation. His head feels heavy and his chest feels light--two things he is not used to in the slightest. His mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and he coughs a few times before he is able to find his voice again. 

“Wh-Where..F--Roy? Wh..he...I--Where?” Argo manages, feeling frustrated with his body’s impaired capabilities. “He--I saw him. Where...d-di--” 

“Yer friend left,” the doctor replies. “I assume to go rest up before comin’ back, but I don’t know where he went. However, you do have some visitors waitin’ for you outside, if you’d like me to go and get ‘em.” Argo nods, causing the woman to stand and get the door. She steps outside and the room is still for a moment or two before the door is flung open as Nikolai and Lyra burst through. 

“Oh thank _gods_ ,” Nikolai says in one breath, rushing to Argo’s bedside and kneeling beside him. “We--I thought you were a _goner_ , man! I-I was so sure I--you looked--oh my _fuck_ I am so happy to see you okay, it just--Wow! It’s fucking _wild_ to see you awake a-after--oh I just--wait, hey, shouldn’t Roy be in h--” They’re cut off by Lyra shoving their face out of the way. 

“Don’t mind them, they’ve been pacing around the waiting room for three hours,” Lyra says with a laugh. “But it _is_ good to see you’re okay. That was a _scary_ situation for all of us, huh?” Argo looks up at the changeling and sees a bandage wrapped around her neck. He faintly remembers why she needs that, but struggles to name it specifically. Lyra notices him looking at her neck and rubs at the spot nervously. “O-Oh, don’t worry about this! Doc said he never got deep enough to leave more than a scar.”

“H-He?” Argo mumbles as the pieces slowly come together in his brain. “R...Right, there w’s...bad guys, an’...an’ _Roy_ \--Wh-Where is he?” Lyra looks at him with an unreadable expression as she reaches down and grabs his hand. 

“I don’t...I’m assuming he’s at the apartment? He was _rather_ insistent on coming here and waiting, but I guess his own exhaustion must’ve gotten to him and he didn’t want you to worry. As for the rest of the night, we’ll catch you up to speed when you’re feeling a bit--” 

The door opens again, this time revealing the Firbolg and Rainer. 

“Hey, have you seen--” Rainer starts, glancing around the room quickly. “--Oh...he’s not here? I could’ve _sworn_ he said he was gonna be here.” Lyra and Nikolai look at the two newest members to the room with confusion. 

“Wait, Roy’s not...at the apartment?” Nikolai asks slowly. The Firbolg shakes his head. 

“We...have not seen hide nor hair of Roy since...sit-u-a-tion.” The Firbolg replies, looking more than a bit worried about everything. Lyra lets go of Argo’s hand to gesture towards the others. 

“Guys, I’m _sure_ Roy will wind up somewhere, but let’s not make Aaron here too upset when he’s just gotten u--” The door opens _again_ , this time revealing Jenny and Wyatt. Jenny immediately scans the room before locking eyes with her wife, expression grim. 

Argo realizes something has gone horribly wrong. 

“He’s not--” Wyatt says suddenly, looking around the room in horror. “--He’s not...here?” 

And Argonaut Keene watches--unable to respond or explain--as the whole room realizes **_Roy Fitzgerald has officially gone missing_**. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: just a quick note! i added it onto the end since the scene is towards the bottom, but there is a moment where a character uses the d-word in a mocking manner. i am aware of what i wrote and the meaning behind the word, trust me! as a lesbian myself, however, i’ve reclaimed the word and only used it once in this moment to further prove the character who said it is Truly a bad person. it isn’t me trying to start controversy by being “edgy”; it is simply a lesbian contextualizing how a slur is used and how we can come to reclaim it because of that. again, it only happens Once, but if you happened to get to the end and are like “hey—“ then i hope this offers some clarity! have a good one <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this or any of my other works, then feel free to let me know on [my tumblr](https://fitzroythecreator.tumblr.com/)!!!! I am always open for requests, theories, or just general clownery on there!!! Also comments and kudos are always appreciated <3


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